


flourish closer

by noellesthings



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Chemistry, Episode Related, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I ship JJ/Kiara and Regret Nothing, JJ Needs a Hug, Jealousy, Kiara needs a hug, Missing Scenes, Mostly Canon Compliant, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Swearing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 41,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23979811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noellesthings/pseuds/noellesthings
Summary: Pogue life, JJ concluded, was a bitch.OR: In which JJ and Kiara spend more time together than they should, and everything is different. Weaves in and out of canon.
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 186
Kudos: 450





	1. (1x1) money & storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _”We’re gonna be cleaning this all summer.”_
> 
> Set early 1x1.

Pouge life is a lot of things; it’s shitty and dirty and oftentimes will knock you so deep into the mud that you can’t get back up (at least not without a stain to show for it) but it is, irrevocably, communal.

If one suffers then they all do, and when Agatha decides to somersault through town adding kerosene to the bonfire that was The Cut, it is suddenly everyone’s problem. 

JJ had almost _almost_ forgotten about it, and he blames Scooter’s sunken boat for distracting him.

To be fair, his brain _was_ focused on Agatha initially, but then that train of thought derailed, quite literally, when he was thrown head over heels into Scooter’s boat. JJ supposes he should care more that his spine almost snapped on impact with the water’s surface - that sudden, nauseating jerk which spun his neck unnaturally close to his ankles was not an experience he’s anxious to repeat - but he was too invested in the discovery of something on the ocean floor that wasn’t a pile of plastic, fish, or half-crushed cans of beer.

This discovery had been the highlight of JJ’s day - and then they stumbled upon a giant, thick wad of cash.

Scooter’s money had kept JJ occupied for the better half of the evening, and on the boat ride back to the Château he had alternated between counting the bills and imagining how much shit he could buy with it - a better boat, a new refrigerator, copious amounts of chocolate, eve more amounts of beer. He had plans to spend it all in one pop, maybe two, but, according to his friends, it wasn’t that simple. 

There were _morals_ to consider. _Values_ to be discussed.

After an entire day of arguing over the cash - to keep or not to keep, with John B and Kiara in favor of the latter, JJ’s money-induced high had worn off, replaced with frustration. By nightfall, he was no closer to getting John B to keep the money than he was closer to earning a Nobel Prize in astrophysics, and it was almost enough to send JJ sleeping somewhere else for the night. 

They needed that money. This was their one, their only, chance at getting some. For reasons JJ can’t comprehend, Kiara and John B couldn’t see that.

JJ ends up crashing at John B’s anyway, and wakes up stiff and cold. His blanket had fallen off during the night, and now lay in a disorganized lump at the foot of the couch. It wasn’t a blanket so much as an old quilt, the fabric fraying at the edges, and JJ glares at, too lazy to physically pick it up, and its red stripes glare back. 

He must have rolled on top of his arm at some point during the night, for now it feels like someone jammed his skin with a bag of needles, numbness crawling up his hand and stopping just below his elbow. JJ shakes the sensation away, flexing his fingers rapidly.

As he does this, JJ cranes his head toward the window, a large rectangle in the middle of the wall. It’s dark outside. The clock nearby (a shitty non-digital one, since the power was _still_ out) informs him it’s incredibly early. JJ curses both the clock and his brain, the latter for uncharacteristically waking him up six hours before noon. He’s not one of those early bird risers, never has been, so JJ flips over on his side, making sure he didn’t squash his still-numb arm even further, and tries in vain to fall back asleep. 

It doesn’t work. 

The pipe must have burst again, for droplets of water jostle him every time he closes his eyes, filling the room with a loud, echoing _splat._ JJ wonders how much it will cost to get said busted-pipe fixed, and that train of thought just makes him remember Scooter’s money all over again. 

The frustration that comes with that thought is striking. JJ finds himself glaring at thin air, at the wooden ceiling boards in between thin air, making them the victim of his anger. 

He pictures Kiara’s face, then John B’s, and the accompanying scorn that comes with them. He can almost hear their voices in his head, telling him to put Scooter’s money back, return it to its rightful place, or at the very least donate it to a local charity. Last night their gazes were frustrated, slipping close to disapproval, as if JJ was the asshole here, as if he doesn’t actually need the money. As if he isn’t knee-deep in poverty himself.

Any more attempts at sleep seem suddenly futile, so JJ throws himself off the couch. It’s fairly easy to leave the Château without waking anyone up, since all JJ has to do is step through the screen door, and despite popular belief, JJ is capable of being quiet when the situation calls for it.

Outdoors, the air is cool and crisp, only slightly colder than the temperature inside, but JJ makes no attempts to warm himself up. The sun is just starting to peek out in the distance, JJ can see its reflection clearly against the water, a golden beam fanning across the Cut, and he knows the island will soon be sizzling under its rays. Besides, the cold is refreshing after his uncomfortable sleep, and for a moment JJ just stands there, letting the air circulate around him in waves. 

The quiet doesn’t last forever, unfortunately. He stands for as long as he can in the calm, listening to the routine chirp of birds echoing around him, but Scooter’s money floats in the back of his mind, insistent, prodding, like a fresh paper cut. Consciously, he glances back towards John B’s home, where both the money and JJ’s newly acquired gun lie inside, safely rolled up in the sleeves of his jacket. 

JJ can almost feel the money calling to him, pulling him towards it like a lasso wrapped around his waist. He’s magnetized. The longer he stares at the money, the more he wants to spend it. He can’t, obviously, not until they all agree on what to do with it, but JJ knows that if he doesn’t leave now, the money will be gone by the time John B wakes up. 

In a display of control that shocks even himself, JJ snaps his gaze away, yanks on his sneakers with a little more force than necessary, and walks off, hunting for something to distract him. JJ doesn’t have any weed on him, and he still doesn’t feel like going home, so he heads to the docks. 

Almost immediately, JJ knows he’s done the right thing. The farther into town he gets, the faster Scooter’s money slips his mind, down the metaphorical drain till it’s no longer the center of his brooding. Instead, JJ becomes acutely aware of his surroundings, and the increasingly frequent piles of rubble which litter the path on which he walks. Trees sprawl uprooted around him, their wide trunks split in two, branches twisted and mangled. 

It takes him only a second to remember _why_ there’s so much destruction underfoot, and once he does, JJ feels ridiculous for forgetting about Agatha. The hurricane had hit only a day ago, and yet JJ had somehow managed to remove it completely from his mind. Here, however, entering the streets he knows his way around blind, Agatha’s destruction is impossible to ignore.

The Cut is wrecked. The town closest to the water took most of Agatha’s brunt: houses are caved open, furniture split into more pieces than JJ can count, and piles of wood and shingles sprawl haphazardly where buildings once stood. Carts lie overturned and masses of fish spill out onto the sidewalk, crushed underfoot so often that they resemble a grey, pulpy mess. Assessing the damage, JJ thinks it might be well into Fall before the Cut is completely restored. 

Pogues flock the streets in clumps and singles, clearly thinking the same thing, anxious to start reconstruction. The air is filled with a symphony of noises: the hum and whir of a chain saw, bangs and clangs of metal being hit, repetitive honks of a tow truck backing up, all interspersed with overlapping chatter. JJ doesn’t remember the last time he saw this many people on the streets, but he’s not complaining, especially if they’re helping sort the wreckage out. It also gives him ample opportunity to grab some food, and JJ snags two apples from an unsuspecting tourist’s basket as she hurries out of a tow truck’s way.

While JJ eats, he stands in a loose group of Pogue's gathered near what once was the bait-and-tackle shop and listens to them discuss plans for reconstruction. He recognizes Martha from the bakery two streets over who JJ frequently buys bread from, and Jerry who works at the Pub and gives his dad cheap beer. There’s a couple other people JJ recognizes in one way or another: Mary the kindergarten teacher, Claude and his two kids who work at the tourist shop, and Monty who sells bagels by the beach. 

JJ listens for a bit and the general gist is to salvage as much as they possibly can, as fast as they possibly can. The goal is to remove everything from the water by sundown, by which point it would be too dark to see, and any remaining wood, metal, or fabric would have molded over or rusted to a fault, useless in the way of repairs.

JJ spits some apple seeds onto the ground, which he crushes into the ground with the toe of his shoe, nodding in agreement. When he turns to the marshes, he’s even more convinced that what the Pogues are saying is right.

A copious amount of wood lies scattered in the ocean. The ones closest to the piers are concentrated in clumps, colliding with each other as they float and bob in the current. The wood is a rich brown, darkened to a unifying shade by the water, and farther out the pieces are layered on top of each other so thickly that only small squares of water poke out like a deformed quilt. At times, it’s impossible to see the water at all, just an endless sea of wood stretching into the horizon.

JJ spends the better half of the morning picking the pieces out. 

He feels like a fisherman, except he’s not catching fish, just hunks of wood which he tosses onto the dock without pattern. The pieces vary in size - some long, some short - and type - oak, pine, poplar. At times JJ can recognize which piece belongs to which house, like the banister from Ms. Maries, the floorboards from Monty’s Bagel Shop, and he even finds a chunk of stairs, two steps grouped together which somehow managed to stay afloat, untouched by the storm around them. 

He ignores the fact that all these chunks once made somebody’s home, and that these people are most likely living under tarps by now. They have no choice but to wait until someone sells a house, and in the Cut these odds are slim at best, or build a new one. 

The Cut doesn’t have homeless shelters, JJ had checked.

The work is monotonous. The sun’s presence was a relief in the early hours of the morning, but by noon JJ’s prediction was correct, and the island is sizzling like a lobster in a pot. 

The wood hurts to sit on, even when blessed by the occasional shadow. The air is hot and stuffy, and if the back of his neck wasn’t already on fire, JJ was sure it would soon burst into flames. He is more than a little grateful for the water which cools his hands and elbows, though the surface of it, too, is growling slightly warm. 

When he reaches for another piece of wood which lazily floats by, the water laps up to his forearm. He tosses it over his shoulder, shaking water droplets through the air which land on the docks along with it. 

When three more hours pass at the same pace, JJ’s officially ready to give up, and half-heartedly considering the idea that time truly can stand still. 

There’s more wood to be gathered, and while JJ could go on for another three hours, he doesn’t want to. His interest in collecting the largest pile of wood has started to wane.

JJ is _bored_. 

His attention slips to other Pogues nearby. Martha’s stuffing shingles into a large burlap bag, which is bursting at the seams. Monty’s lifting chunks of metal from the water, and passing them to his kids, who immediately proceed to dry them off in a relay. Someone’s working a crane nearby, though the driver is too far off for JJ to properly distinguish. No one’s taking a lunch break, and no one’s standing still.

Staring at Pogues is entertaining for approximately fifteen minutes. As his interest wanes, JJ’s thoughts circulate dangerously close to Scooter’s money. He’s probably begging for a distraction, which is why he instantly notices when a small, familiar frame starts walking toward him on the dock. 

Kiara’s wearing black shorts and white sneakers, the tops dirty from wear and use; her hair is pulled up in a faded blue headband, yet several strands frizz out uncharacteristically from the humidity. She’s got a pink tank-top on which reveals a flash of smooth, bare skin, and stops just below her collarbones. 

JJ rises to greet her, and finds his knees have turned a painful shade of red, the result of sitting on them for the past five hours. When Kiara gets within earshot, JJ stops stretching and asks, “Kiara? What are you doing here?” 

“Here to help,” Kiara answers, as she maneuvers herself carefully around his pile of wood. JJ pauses over her reply, momentarily distracted by the blue backpack hanging from Kiara’s bare shoulders. He wonders what she’s got inside. Hopefully food, since the two apples he had for breakfast were consumed hours ago, and his stomach has moved past grumbling, and is probably eating itself. The backpack vanishes from sight, however, once Kiara tip-toes around his wood and turns to the side. She grins, and, unaware of JJ’s fascination with her choice of bag, waves a hand at him. “Hey.”

JJ’s still not sure why she’s here, aside from the whole _helping_ thing, though he’s generally mystified as to why Kiara hangs out with all of them as a whole. “Shouldn’t you be at some sort of Kook event?” JJ asks. “Mourning those five minutes when your internet cut out?” 

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as snarky as it does, and Kiara’s expression stalls for a moment before her lips twist into a smile.

“We were out of our expensive mourning wine.” She retaliates, and then her expression turns sour. “It’s unfair that the Figure Eight was completely untouched by Agatha.” She shakes her head, clearly disgusted, and asks, “How can Kooks celebrate when not three miles from our home, there’s a massive power outage?” 

Her question is probably rhetorical, but JJ just shrugs. “It’s a lot more than a power outage,” he notes, gesturing to the wood-filled waters, and Kiara follows his gaze with a deepening frown. 

For a moment they just stand there, listening to the clutter of Pogues around them, working-class citizens trying to pull themselves back on their feet. When JJ glances back at Kiara, he finds the frown still etched on her face, and for a moment, he wonders if she came out here to find a distraction, too. 

The thought is concerning. JJ doesn’t like the idea that Kiara needs something to be distracted _from,_ though he’s really not in the mood to think about why. His mind scrambles for a way to get her smiling again, but the only plus JJ can think of is that Agatha made it real easy to fish. As topics go, slaughter of animals is generally not a cheerful one, and it is Kiara, so JJ dismisses that idea instantly. He knows Kiara’s happy when things are salvageable, when bad things can be fixed. 

JJ jumps to his pile of wood, and pulls out the stairs he had found this morning. “Check it out, Kie.” He hands her the stairs, and, after a moment, Kiara’s expression clears. She doesn’t look happy, exactly, but no longer like a puppy who just got kicked, so JJ pulls out a banister he found not thirty minutes earlier, with only a couple bars missing. 

“There’s this, too.” He says as he hands it to her. Kiara puts the set of stairs down, and runs her hand along the banister’s rough surface, as if inspecting the wood for something JJ can’t see. His best guess is termites.

“Yep,” JJ says, stretching the word out as he watches her. “That’s great for, like, a ladder, or you can flip it on its side and use those bars to hang bags of weed.” JJ’s not entirely sure what else anyone would use a partially broken banister for, especially now, but Kiara’s nodding alongside him, as if she had an idea JJ can’t quite grasp. 

When she snaps her head to face him, her eyes are sharp and glinting, and all traces of despair have vanished from her gaze. “Is there anything else?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck, pleased at her sudden change in mood, and even more pleased that he caused this change of mood in the first place. “Yeah, sure. A lot of stuff I found is more or less intact.” 

He motions to the wood, and Kiara drops to her hands and knees, so suddenly that for a moment JJ thinks she fell. Once he realizes that a, he’s staring at her infuriatingly long legs, and b, she’s actually sorting the pieces of wood into two piles, JJ joins her, following along with equal enthusiasm, even if he’s not sure who or what they’re sorting wood for. To be honest, JJ’s just happy he has something different to do, even if it’s still sorting wood, at least he’s no longer pulling shit from the water.

They work quickly, and efficiently side-by-side, so JJ’s enormous pile of wood is sorted in less than an hour. Eventually, Kiara sighs, lifts a hand up to her forehead, and says, “JJ, this is great.” 

She sits back on her knees, and surveys the wood lying on the dock, which was now sorted into two distinct piles: salvageable, and scrap wood. 

Kiara moves her hands from her forehead to her chin, eyes contemplative. When she looks at him, her eyes are clear, and excited. “I wonder if we can start a resource fund, where people can take pieces of wood that they need for repairs. Like a charity drive. We would start out small, obviously, maybe deliver wood to other areas of the community, free of charge.”

JJ blinks at the sudden idea, and glances from both piles of wood to Kiara, and back.

“Who would deliver the wood, though?” He questions. “I can’t picture any Pogue working for free. Especially now.”

Kiara frowns at the thought. “Maybe we could pay people through clothes?” She suggests.

JJ nods. “Money’s a better motivator, if you ask me. But clothes could do the trick.” 

To JJ’s surprise, this conversation continues, and he’s actually glad to participate. JJ normally gets bored of discussing charity work two minutes in, but this time Kiara captures his attention, and JJ finds himself genuinely interested in what she has to say. Kiara’s knowledge on the subject is extensive, and it’s surprisingly intriguing listening to her talk. 

The two switch from simple ideas to discussing more plausible means of wood-distribution, with JJ pointing out flaws as Kiara brainstorms, and nodding in approval when the ideas seem more sound. The two don’t conclude their discussion till the sun has set, the last of its rays lazily stroking the water and the island. In the end, Kiara decides to ask her father if they could donate some food from The Wreck as some form of payment to fellow Pogues, while JJ promises to ask around and see if anyone is even interested in their idea.

“It got dark really fast,” Kiara notes when their conversation reaches its natural end. She sounds surprised, as if she, too, didn’t realize how much time had passed. 

“Yeah.” JJ agrees, glancing up at the dark sky. The flat, black color is accented with gray clouds, swirled with the night’s first stars. JJ stretches, raising his arms above his head, and listens to his joints click, while Kiara mirrors the motion.

JJ takes a moment to snag an old tarp off the ground, and Kiara helps him transfer both piles of wood onto it. JJ leaves the tarp there, assuring her that no one would steal it, Pogues had a distinct sense of community in times of crisis, and that the wood would most likely dry up by tomorrow morning.

“Oh,” Kiara adds, as they’re both leaving. “I almost forgot.” She drops to a knee, and unzips her backpack, one arm reaching inside. When she stands up again, she’s holding three sandwiches, and a beer. 

“This was meant to be for all of you, but I didn’t get to see John B or Pope today,” she says, and JJ wonders if that’s regret in her tone. Before he has time to analyze it further, Kiara pushes all four of the foodstuffs into JJ’s hands. “Here.”

“What?” JJ blinks, unprepared for the sudden onslaught, twisting to juggle the beer and three sandwiches in both hands. He coughs to cover it up, adding, “I mean, I can give this to Pope and John B later.”

“No, you take it.” Kiara says insistfully, though she’s grinning, at JJ’s surprised expression or his clumsiness, he can’t tell. “I want you to have it. I’ll give food to the guys next time I see them.” 

JJ finds he’s unable to argue, even if he wanted to. “Thanks.” he says, acutely aware that he must look like an idiot, staring at the sandwiches with a smile on his lips. 

Kiara grins at him under her lashes. “Thank you, too, JJ.” She says, and skips off, leaving JJ to wonder what she could be thanking him for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I firmly believe our favorite group of Pogues have better things to do with their lives/obligations outside of their Royal Merchant Treasure Hunt, yet we never really see them doing anything but Treasure Hunting in each episode.
> 
> Also, are we seriously not going to talk about Agatha. That storm destroyed 50% of the Cut, obviously people would be repairing it.
> 
> Am I going to go episode by episode? You bet.
> 
> How often will I update this? Well, what does popular support say?


	2. (1x1) moral obligations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Put the gun down!" ___
> 
> _  
> _OR: In which JJ fires a gun, and it’s problematic for everyone involved._  
> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JJ being reckless? Check.

The sound of the gun going off is deafening - a clap of lighting in the sky, except there’s no light flashing in the darkness. It’s not cold, yet goosebumps erupt across Kiara’s shoulders, scrambling down her arms and elbows and through each joint like a thousand ants. Her ears burn as if pierced with hot skewers. Mutely, Kiara notes JJ’s still holding that gun in the air. 

People rush off the beach instantly, their bodies slamming into her own as they move in waves of dark clothing. Someone hits her in the shoulder and doesn’t look back, and another person, a girl, trips and falls into the sand. Her friend pulls her back up, quickly, urgently, desperately, and they both continue running. Everyone is screaming.

Amidst the scattered bodies and the rising panic in her chest, Kiara sees Topper and Sarah, hand-in-hand, fingers entwined like some sort of pale lifeline, running off the beach into the night. There’s a sting that comes with the sight of Sarah leaving, Sarah _abandoning her again_ , but Kiara pushes it down.

She can’t afford to think about that right now, and she turns around and away. _Priorities,_ Kiara reminds herself. _Think about priorities._

JJ and Pope are unharmed, and arguing. Kiara scans the beach quickly, and she latches onto John B’s silhouette, dark and framed in the water. He’s on his hands and knees, struggling to stand, and Kiara doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both because _he’s alive._ Kiara runs to him. 

By the time she gets there, John B has collapsed in the water once more, and Kiara thinks _no no no_ on a staggered loop, desperately tugging at his clothes as she tries to pull him up. Her brain feels muddled, thick with panic and fear, and thoughts swirl around her head in incoherent jumbles. Waves squeeze her arms and legs and slam into her chest, smearing her vision. Kiara has to sink to her knees to keep from falling over, pressing into the sand which shifts and resettles around her legs.

John B isn’t waking up, and randomly Kiara’s mind summons an image of Sarah and Topper, the way their fingers joined in together in an eternal grip, and it’s annoying, strange, unrelated, and Kiara has to, has to… 

It’s gotten so dark that she almost can’t make out John B against the waves. Kiara grips his shirt tighter, fingers clenched into the fabric so tightly they burn. He’s soaked, predictably, and Kiara can’t tell which spots are water and which are bruises on his skin. He _still_ doesn’t move, even when Kiara calls his name, and she shakes him, once, twice, three times.

“JJ! Pope!” She yells, her panic growing. “Help me!”

Waves lap around her. Kiara focuses all her energy on keeping John B’s head above the water so he can still breathe, hoping there’s still a person left to breathe, which she stubbornly believes, although John B gives no indication that he’s conscious. He lies limp in her arms, and the water makes his clothes heavy. Kiara’s arms are just about to give when JJ rushes up behind her, and the weight she’s been holding is suddenly gone. 

JJ’s face is morphed into concern, and twists slightly at the effort of supporting John B above the water. His hair sticks out against the sky, fluorescent in the darkness.

JJ glances at John B, then at Kiara. “We lift him on three,” JJ tells her, shouting to be heard over the rise and fall of the waves, and Kiara nods before she starts to pull.

The atmosphere in the van is tense, and fractured. Pope offers to drive, but then admits he has to leave once he sees the time displayed on the van’s stereo, and it’s only JJ who manages to convince him to stay, insisting that they’d need two people watching John B in case things grow worse.

Kiara stays silent, though she’s not sure how things can get any _worse_ than this.

 _John B could die,_ a voice tells her, and Kiara pushes it away.

Between Pope, Kiara, and JJ, it was considerably easier to haul John B off the beach and into the van. JJ’s advice on how to deal with bruises is only applicable when they’re back at the Château, where they have access to ice and gauze, which leaves Kiara as the only one with formal medical experience. She’s not sure how helpful her former internship is at this point, but it’s better than nothing, so she crawls in the back next to John B. They maintain these positions for the entirety of the trip: John B in the back, unconscious, his head resting in Kiara’s lap; Pope driving in the front; and JJ riding shotgun beside him.

Kiara listens to the engine thrum, and the roll of wheels over the gravel road, feeling miserable.  
When John B’s head sways to the side, slightly, she realizes she is shivering.

Her clothes are completely soaked, and cling to her skin uncomfortably, so goosebumps erupt across her arms and legs. She didn’t even notice her water-logged clothes till now, as on the beach staying warm and dry hadn’t been a priority. Now Kiara feels the cold so strongly it’s as if it seeped into her bones, turning her body into ice. Despite this, she refuses to grab a towel, worried that the motion might somehow harm John B even more, or wake him up from his sleep. 

And he is sleeping. Kiara had checked three times while they were dragging him up the sandy shore, and periodically taken his pulse. She still remembers the feel of his skin, soft, damp, limp under her fingers, and the terror coursing through her body a second before she felt his beating heart. Given the combination of alcohol, fist-fights, and half-drowning John B has experienced, Kiara assumes (hopes) John B will wake up late in the morning. 

JJ’s sitting in the front seat with his head pressed against the van’s headrest, alternating between periods of ignoring everyone completely, and throwing glances at John B. Right now, it’s the former, and he’s fidgeting with his lighter, twisting it furiously in his hands. She wonders what he’s thinking.

Kiara doesn’t know where the gun is, but she knows JJ still has it. She searches the bumps and folds in his clothing, but given the way JJ’s pressed against the seat she’s only able to see parts of his shirt, and ultimately finds nothing resembling the weapon. She knows he’ll keep it, even after today, and that worries her.

They make it to the Château in one piece. Pope parks as close to the house as possible, and all three of them drag John B inside, where they leave him resting on his bed. Kiara stares at his prone figure.

Already, a large bruise has formed around the indent of his eye, wine-red, and circular. Quickly, carefully, she checks for obvious wounds, ghosting her fingers over the fabric of his still-damp shirt, and is so relieved that there are no bullet holes that she almost cries. The fight was brutal, and John B will definitely have more bruises to show for it, but at least they didn’t need to check him into a hospital. She shakes her head, emotions swirling in a cloud of mixed relief, pain, and anger.

Outside, JJ’s leaning against a tree with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and Pope’s standing near the van, inspecting something on its hood. They aren’t talking, yet both turn to Kiara as she steps outside the screen door.

“Well?” JJ asks, at the same time as Pope says, “How is he?”

Kiara reiterates her assessment of him: no major gashes, only bruises, should be awake by morning. Their relief is palpable, but only for a moment, because then Pope’s eyes widen, and he turns on JJ so fast it makes Kiara blink. Pope’s entire body is rigid, and in a tense, accusing voice, he shouts, “You brought the _gun?_ ”

Kiara freezes. JJ freezes too, but only for a moment, and he shoves the gun, dark, dangerous, glinting, back into the pocket of his pants. Kiara swallows thickly. She knew he brought it, but suddenly seeing that weapon again makes Kiara feel sick.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Kiara tells JJ quietly. There’s no need to elaborate on what that is. Although Kiara’s voice is low, she knows JJ can hear her since his gaze flits from Pope towards her own. “JJ, you could have killed people.”

“So?” JJ snaps, and then, perhaps realizing what he just said, shakes his head, as if to clear the idea. He pushes himself off the tree, and starts to pace. “You’d rather I just let Topper drown him?” JJ asks, his voice loud, too loud, and the hostility in his tone makes her blood boil.

“We were _trying_ to keep a low profile.” Kiara yells back, approaching him. JJ stops pacing as she does, till Kiara can see his black irises gleaming in the light, and the water which soaked his shirt, turning the bottom half a dark grey. He smells of sweat, salt, and anger. He’s pissed, eyebrows hard, face set, and Kiara’s face darkens at his expression. “That was the entire point of the kegger, and you decide, stupidly, to go and shoot up the place.”

“I didn’t _shoot up_ anything,” JJ says, dripping venom, drawing even closer now. “I did what I had to do to save my friend.”

“Save?” Kiara scoffs. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re lucky no one died.”

JJ smiles, all bitter. “Well, _Kiara,_ if it bothers you that much, next time I won’t do a single thing. John B will die, but hey, as long as I don’t use a gun, it’s cool, right?”

Kiara grits her teeth.

She glares at him.

JJ glares back.

The tension is so thick, so cloaking, it’s a wonder the air doesn’t snap. It does, however, make Pope boil over.

“You shot stuff up, alright.” Pope states, coming up besides them, although neither JJ nor Kiara glance in his direction as he does so. Kiara’s too annoyed to think straight; JJ’s gaze is taunting, daring, and she refuses to look away.

Pope rubs a hand over his face. More to himself, he moans, “I could lose my scholarship over this.” 

“Enough about your scholarship,” JJ snaps, spinning away from Kiara to shoot Pope a glare. Pope tenses instantly, livid, and for a moment Kiara thinks Pope will yell at JJ, too, that their confrontation could turn physical. Then Pope’s ugly expression wilts, and he pushes past JJ to Kiara’s side.

“If my dad finds out I was at this kegger, I’m dead, you hear me?” Pope says intently, as if begging her to listen. “I was supposed to be working on my scholarship essay all day. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Then go!” JJ hollers.

Pope ignores him, but the suggestion clearly sticks, for he glances meaningfully at Kiara. She pauses, meeting his gaze and the emotions that flash through it - worry, concern, a silent plea - then nods.

“Go.” She whispers. “We’ll be fine.”

Pope doesn’t need any more convincing. With a quick glance in JJ’s direction, he dashes off. JJ and Kiara watch him leave until they’re unable to, and Pope’s back is swallowed by the shadowy trees and skyline. 

Without Pope’s presence, it’s abnormally silent, and Kiara’s skin is burning - either from the cold or her own annoyance at the entire situation, she can’t tell. 

JJ turns to her. “I suppose you want to leave, too?” He asks, the question bitter, and Kiara can’t make out the expression on his face when he says, “Nevermind.” It’s dirty, edged with exhaustion, and before she has a chance to respond, JJ spins away, and stalks into the night.

Kiara doesn’t follow him.

Instead, she stands in the middle of the woods and listens to the sounds of her chest rising and falling, and stares at the dirt, leaves, and sand sticking to her worn, pink flip-flops.

Eventually, her skin starts burning a little too hard, and she makes her way over to the porch, where she sits down and stares at her flip-flops there. She’s exhausted. Her thoughts are a twisting, festering mess.

Kiara tries for some semblance of normalcy, tries not to think about JJ and the gun and John B’s health for a single second, but her mind keeps jumping back to it all, like a swinging pendulum. She sighs. Ignoring the issue would solve nothing, and Kiara knows it, so she leans back till her spine hits the porch steps, the surface feels rough even through the fabric of her shirt. She rests her elbows on her knees, takes a deep, slow breath, and organizes her thoughts.

JJ shouldn't have fired the gun, that much is clear. It was stupid, and dangerous, and people could have been killed.

What if someone calls the cops on them tomorrow? John B would go into foster care for sure, no appointment necessary. JJ would get landed with unlawful discharge of a firearm, and Pope’s scholarship would definitely be at risk. All because JJ stupidly, needlessly fired a gun into the air for the entire beach to see. Worse, he put that same gun to Topper’s head, and while Kiara knows Topper is too much of a coward to admit that he almost got his head blown off by a Pogue, threatening any Kook with bodily harm is very, very dangerous. 

Especially if you’re a Pouge. Especially if you’re JJ, who literally had nothing to lose.

Kiara presses her palm against her eyes. Part of her wonders if she’s overreacting. Or if the anger she feels - swift, raw, undulating - is some sort of coping mechanism to deal with the last couple hours.

Because. 

Because it’s easier to focus on JJ being an idiot and firing the gun than what would have happened if he didn’t use the gun at all. 

John B was _dying._ Topper was going to kill him, they all know it. Topper was going to drown her best friend and get off scot free, and yet, and yet… 

JJ stopped him. 

There was no going around that: JJ saved John B’s life. Albeit recklessly, but still. Kiara could think of several other ways JJ could have achieved the same result, smarter ways, none of which involved that weapon.

But then she remembers her horror, the raw panic coursing through her spine when Topper stood on the shore, drowning John B, jamming his head into the sand, bubbles of air rising as John B struggled to break free. She had been forced to watch John B die, her best friend, her…. 

In that moment, Kiara was unable to think straight, so was it so logical to presume that JJ could, too?

She looks thoughtfully in the direction that JJ had gone, and wonders where he’d sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates? Check.
> 
> I’ve got about 30k of this written out, and still going strong. Also, spending copious amounts of time watching JJxKiara compilations on loop is rather inspiring.
> 
> Comment your thoughts, opinions, general discrepancies, and pretty much anything else.


	3. (1x1) malleable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Put the gun down!" _\- part two.__
> 
> _  
> _OR: In which there are apologies._  
> _

For the second time in a row, JJ wakes up stiff, and freezing. His dream comes to him in bits and pieces: Kiara screaming, Pope on his hands and knees, Topper pushing John B’s head into the water, except this time JJ didn’t have his gun to stop him. 

The half-remembered dream swirls away when JJ presses his palms against his eyes, causing fireworks to explode behind his eyelids. He sighs, reminds himself _it’s not real,_ and opens his eyes once more, and John B’s ceiling stares back at him, accompanied by the same, monotonous drip from the leaking pipe. JJ doesn’t remember coming back to the Château after his fight with Kiara and Pope, but he clearly did, and the lack of recollection annoys him. He supposes that’s what he gets for drinking too much beer.

Outside, it’s very dark, and very early. Too early. JJ checks the time, and wonders, briefly, if sleep-deprivation is now a part of his schedule. Right now JJ wants nothing more than five long hours of uninterrupted sleep, preferably dreamless. Apparently, his body has decided otherwise.

 _Fuck it,_ JJ thinks, and clambers off the couch. He snags himself a drink, water this time, enjoying the way the beverage cools his throat, and ditches breakfast altogether.

Quietly, he pokes his head into John B’s room, side-stepping all of the floorboards which creak under his feet. After confirming that John B was, in fact, still breathing, JJ breathes his own sigh of relief. He wonders what John B will say when he wakes up, if he’ll be as pissed off as Kiara and Pope currently are. Whatever his reaction will be, JJ doesn’t want to stick around to find out. He finishes his drink, rinses the now-empty cup before placing it back onto the shelf, and steps outside.

Without really thinking about it, JJ finds himself walking in the direction of the docks. 

The streets are as crowded as they were yesterday, though cleaner, and JJ spots piles of rubble shoved against corners that were once restaurants and cluttered around street signs that were previously bare. These were clear indications that other Pogues were sweeping the roads, attempting to remove Agatha’s clutter from the streets, and it’s a helpful reminder that, outside of JJ’s current problems, life goes on. 

He wanders the streets slowly, catching bits and pieces of conversation, but hears nothing out of the ordinary that raises any red flags. Ms. Sanchez explains that she’s helping her husband rebuild the roof of their house, and Monty complains that he doesn’t have enough wood to patch up the porch, which was completely torn off during the storm. No one mentions a party, or the gunshots that went off last night, and when JJ casually asks about it, both just shrug.

“I might’ve heard somethin’ ” Monty says, scratching his thinning patch of hair. “But it don’t matter. I’m more focused on getting these porch steps fixed.”

“That’s right.” Ms. Sanchez agrees. “Gunshots sound more like something those Kooks over at the Figure Eight complain about.” She chuckles, though her light tone is quickly replaced with a more serious one. “JJ, we’ve got more important things to be worrying our heads about around here.”

Still, despite their assurances, the party is still on his mind. JJ can’t stop picturing Kiara’s expression, the way she shoved him after he’d fired that gun, as if she wanted to be away from him. As if he had been the one holding John B’s head under the water. 

And Pope. He had planned to run away the first chance he got. 

JJ doesn’t understand it. He saved John B’s life, because _no one else was going to_ , and now he was getting shit for it? By his friends, no less. He could understand those tourists freaking out, or the Kooks, but Kiara and Pope? No way.

With these thoughts circulating through his head, and their anger still pressing on his mind, JJ assumes he won’t be seeing his friends anytime soon, at least not for the rest of the day. Besides, he’s not sure if _he’s_ ready to see them yet, so it’s a complete surprise when JJ arrives at the tarp where his wood is laid out, and finds Kiara sitting there.

She’s facing her back to him, crouched low, and pulling something from the water. JJ sees both piles of wood, salvageable and scrap, are present, though the former is more organized than before, categorized by type, which means Kiara’s been sitting here for a while. She doesn’t look up until JJ’s shadow falls over the wood, his gray silhouette encasing the pieces in momentary darkness.

“JJ!” Kiara says, surprised. She stands up instantly, brushing soot and splinters from her knees. JJ follows his gaze up, past her shorts - brown, this time - to her white shirt, where she rubs her hands against the fabric, leaving wet, palm-sized stains. She looks at him and says, “I didn’t think you’d come.” 

“Yeah,” JJ bites back. Kiara looks instantly nervous, nervous to be around him, and it stings more than he thought it would. “Disappointed, are we?” 

“No,” Kiara answers quickly. “I just didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

JJ frowns at her, unsure if she’s being genuine or not. Kiara looks back at him with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, and after a moment JJ concludes she’s being honest. He’s not sure what to make of that.

Silence descends, and stretches. JJ finds himself in some sort of déjà vu, reminded of their previous encounter in this same spot, staring at each other besides the water. Except that was before JJ pulled out a gun to save John B’s life, and his friends went all krav-maga on his ass. 

This time, however, JJ doesn’t break the silence. While he wants to rectify things with Kiara, JJ refuses to apologize for a so-called crime he did not wrongfully commit. He’s prepared to let the silence stretch even longer, till one of them leaves, or both do, but then Kiara sighs.

“JJ, I’m sorry.” 

The apology is completely unexpected, and JJ blinks before opening his mouth to respond. Kiara must know JJ’s ready to reply to that, for she raises a hand, silently asking him to listen, and continues. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did yesterday, when you,” she trails off, not willing to say the words out loud in case someone overhears them, but JJ understands regardless. 

“You should not have used _that_ , it was incredibly ridiculous in my opinion. And stupid. Completely overboard.” She now sounds very much like a scolding mother, and JJ half expects a long, tiring rant about the dangers of unregistered firearms. But her tone softens when she adds, “You saved John B’s life. We should have handled it better.”

JJ squints at her. Kiara stares back, brown eyes wide, honest, loose pieces of hair trailing around her in the wind. She’s fidgeting with her wristbands, as if she’s worried how he’ll respond. 

Part of him wants to reject her apology, no questions. The other part, the bigger part, is caught off guard by her honesty, and while JJ had planned to hold a grudge, he feels his anger melt and ebb away, no longer a simmering, whirling mass. He’s surprised how quickly he went from straight pissed to calm, how willing her is to accept her apology, as if he was ready to forgive her all along. JJ sighs, inhaling the salty air, and realizes he’s left Kiara waiting for his answer.

He puts a hand to his chin, and frowns in an exaggerated manner, as if he’s mulling the response over in his head. Then, he cups a hand to his ear, and asks, “Can you say that again, Kie? I didn’t quite catch that, or did _you _just apologize to _me_?”__

__“Knock it off,” Kiara says, giving him a shove, but there's no malice behind it. Her eyes twinkle at him, a smile ghosting her lips, and JJ’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden, if momentary, contact. When she pulls her hand away his arm continues to tingle, slightly, and JJ finds himself missing it. He wonders if her skin has always been this warm, or if that is the sun’s doing. Speaking of which. JJ peers towards the sky, and the glowing star shining brightly in it, which has, by now, risen._ _

__“How long have you been working here?” He asks._ _

__“Not long.” Kiara replies. “Only a couple hours.”_ _

__“Sheesh. You couldn't pay me to wake up that early.”_ _

__Kiara laughs, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing: yeah, someone probably could._ _

__“Five dollars?” Kiara suggests, and JJ rolls his eyes._ _

__“A little respect, please. I’m not _that_ cheap. I’d need a twenty as a flat fee, and an additional ten for damages.”_ _

__“Damages?” Kiara questions._ _

__“Emotional damages.” JJ says seriously, laying a hand on his heart._ _

__Kiara’s face is grave, but her eyes sparkle with mirth. “Right. It must be very challenging waking up before noon.”_ _

__The conversation swivels around sleeping, or lack thereof, bobs around the topic of breakfast, and settles on charity work, as conversations with Kiara usually go. This one, however, is more interesting than usual, due to the fact that said charity work involves JJ himself._ _

__“I’ve been thinking about our project,”’ Kiara says, and it takes JJ only a moment to realize that she’s referring to their earlier ideas by the docks to donate wood. It happened only yesterday, but with everything that’s gone down since then, that feels like a lifetime ago. Kiara pauses, briefly, leaving the sentence to trail off, and JJ recognizes she’s giving him a way out, a chance to change the conversation in case he’s no longer interested in the project as a whole._ _

__JJ pauses, too, and wonders if he should take the extended invitation. It comes as a surprise when he realizes he doesn’t want to. “I asked some local Pogues if they’d be interested in using donated wood.” he starts, pleased by how fast Kiara smiles._ _

__True to his word, JJ had asked around. He describes his encounter with Monty to Kiara, along with several other Pogues he’d managed to talk to yesterday, such as some of the sleazy characters his father hung around with. “The general consensus being _yes I’d love some wood_.” JJ finishes, and Kiara looks ecstatic._ _

__“Great,” she says quickly, eyes gleaming, obviously very pleased with JJ’s report. “When I talked to my parents about donating clothes, and my mom nearly had an aneurysm.” She shakes her head, frowning slightly. “My dad said there was no way we could use fresh food from The Wreck to give to Pogues, but he did say we could take the scrap food, leftovers that aren’t eaten by tourists at the end of the day.”_ _

__JJ, ignoring the sting that came with _no way_ and _fresh food for Pogues_ , claps his hands together. “Alright Kie! Looks like we got ourselves a form of payment. All we gotta do is toss this wood into a box,” he gestures to the salvageable wood, “and find some people who’d be willing to move it in exchange for chum. It should be pretty easy to find volunteers given the state of things.” JJ says, and frowns. “Agatha’s taken the poverty line and pushed that sucker _way_ down._ _

__As for the food your father will donate, we won’t tell anyone it’s scrap food, obviously. Maybe put a label on it, like Kooks do with their fancy-ass advertisements.” JJ raises one hand through the air, as if envisioning a giant banner, “ ‘Feed your family with _fresh_ food. Transport wood today.’ That sort of thing.”_ _

__He pauses. “I also know a couple guys with trucks, they’d be down to transport the wood if I asked them.”_ _

__“Great.” Kiara exclaims, “I can brainstorm some slogans a little later, if you want.”_ _

__JJ nods, and Kiara raises an eyebrow. “I gotta say, JJ, I’m impressed.”_ _

__“I’m an impressive person, Kie.”_ _

__Kiara snorts. “See you tomorrow morning to discuss it?” She asks. “Same time?”_ _

__JJ throws a thumb up into the air as he starts to walk down the dock, “Bring twenty dollars, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”_ _

__“What, no emotional damages?” Kiara calls after him._ _

__JJ raises an eyebrow. “Depends on what you’ll be wearing,” he yells back, and stops long enough to see Kiara bending over in laughter._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sponsored by: this show is eating my life. 
> 
> If anyone has any good JJxKiara compilations, let me know below. Thanks!


	4. (1x1) peck pash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Diver down? Diver down." ___
> 
> _  
> _OR: In which Kiara kisses John B on the cheek, and thinks about it.__  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry folks, this fic is still 100% JJxKiara.

Kissing John B felt _weird._

Because John B was always her friend - John B - until he wasn’t. Until Kiara started noticing the way his hair looked seconds after he woke up: all brown, curious tangles lazily spread across his face; or the way his face changed when he smiled: smooth features turning even smoother, muscles flexing as his entire body trembled with laughter.

He was kind, and smart, and a good surfer. He didn’t care that Kiara was a Kook, and didn’t mock her when she ranted about the environment, just listened. He made Kiara feel kind and smart, too.

Kiara’s never felt this way around him before, pleasant and always-smiling and jittery, and suddenly everything John B said had a new meaning, made her feel something strange and deep inside her gut. She analyzed it as clinically as a scientist. Every step he took. Every look he gave her.

He made her squirm. He made her feel _good._

Kiara just wasn’t sure what to do about it. She didn’t know if she wanted to do anything about it, really. She’s liked boys before, nothing serious, even if she’s never kissed one. Liking John B, or feeling anything towards John B other than a combination of mutual respect and friendship was unexpected, new, but not necessarily wrong.

Maybe it was because they were friends, incredibly close, that she didn’t want to do anything about this, an internal fear of damaging their pre-existing relationship swirling inside. Maybe she didn’t want a relationship with anyone at all.

Her thoughts were mixed and circuitous, and it’s only months later that Kiara admits to herself what she feels, what that sharp jab to her gut is that makes her shudder. 

It was _arousal._

The word tasted nice inside her mouth, and she held onto it, tightly, between her teeth.

But.

_But._

Kissing John B felt _weird._

It wasn’t even a full kiss, just one on the cheek, something that could be innocuously described as a peck, and it felt, it felt, strange. She didn’t really know what to expect - that was the point of it - but certainly not this.

Her lips met his skin, salty from the waves, and sticky. John B dived into the water, off to canvas Scooter’s sunken ship. That was that. Her world didn’t break and snap and shatter. There was no fire, no heat. It was dizzying. Her _arousal_ twitched, and then vanished so mysteriously that in that moment, Kiara wondered if she ever felt it in the first place.

So kissing John B on the cheek felt odd and warm, not wrong, exactly. Kiara mulls it over for several hours after, and concludes that she’s still not sure if she’d be opposed to doing it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely don't ship KiaraxJohn B. But Kiara did like him in the early episodes of the show, so I feel their relationship is something that has to be (and will be again in later chapters) addressed. I've read some posts that shame Kiara's character for liking both John B and Pope in season 1, which is completely ridiculous because a) a girl can like as many people as she wants and b) Kiara's just confused, and trying to sort out how she feels. That being said, this fic firmly remains on course with JJxKiara. KiaraxJohn B will show up in later chapters, but more as a mechanism to fuel the JJxKiara relationship than anything else.
> 
> This was a short chapter, I know, but I promise the next one will resume regularly scheduled programming, and be longer.
> 
> Comments, grammar corrections, and thoughts always appreciated.


	5. (1x2) deadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[chickens clucking]_
> 
>   
> 
> 
> OR: The gang hides in a chicken coop. Featuring: emotional reactions to stressful situations are totally normal.

No one moves as the Square Groupers approach the chicken coop. 

The air is silent and tense, sharp with internal fear and morbid curiosity.

JJ’s curious as to how fast they can scramble away from the chicken coop if the Square Groupers suddenly decide to load their guns and fire. There’s really nowhere to scramble away _to_ , however, and he really, really wishes the front wall was made of stronger material than mesh wire. Mesh doesn’t stop bullets, and even if the Groupers somehow shoot from the side of the coop, wood doesn’t do much in the way of slowing down bullets, either. They’re screwed.

John B stays closest to the entrance, crouched on his knees in a position that must be very uncomfortable to hold, but to JJ’s relief, he doesn’t wobble. They’re all strong, but one can only stay still for so long till one's legs give.

John B has a finger pressed against his lips, warning them to be quiet. JJ can’t make out the Square Groupers completely, just four raised tires from the underbelly of their truck (a 2019 GMC Sierra 1500), and the lower-half of Square Grouper A, standing with his feet spread, point-blank staring. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s staring at - them - and the blasted chickens inside the coop, who are, finally, quiet. A minute passes like this, and JJ recognizes the grumble of an engine as the truck comes to life, but the first Square Grouper doesn’t move. 

The sound of the engine is a blessing in more ways than one, for at that moment Pope’s breathing switches from slightly panicked to erratic - hard, heavy, _loud_ \- and the growl of the engine masks the noise, even after Pope puts a hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing. Pope’s legs are stretched out, the corner of his dirt-stained sneaker almost touching JJ’s own. Beside him, Kiara is crying.

_Crying._

The sound of her sobs, small, stifled, makes JJ’s stomach clench. It’s the sound of Kiara helpless, because Kiara only ever cries if they’re in _deep shit_ , which they are waist-deep in, considering the Square Grouper can open fire any second, and probably dispose of their bodies in a nearby ditch. Also, JJ knows him murdering a chicken several minutes ago did nothing to alleviate her stress. 

Kiara’s not looking at him. She’s not looking at anybody, really, just staring straight ahead, but JJ had watched her gaze bounce around several times before this: from John B, to Pope, to Square Grouper A, and back to John B again. Her gaze has finally settled somewhere on the wall in front of her, wooden, with a trail of sap spilling down its side. JJ swallows. Her refusal to meet his eyes probably has more to do with the fact that he's holding a dead chicken than a general hatred of JJ himself, but this conclusion only makes him feel worse. 

The chicken in his hand is limp, feathers soft, and body warm, though rapidly growing colder. Its neck is held loosely in his fingers - small and thin, so easy to break, like snapping a toothpick, and the same sound, too. There’s no blood. There’s no noise from the chicken, either. 

JJ needs a distraction, but there isn’t one. A dark, pathetic voice whispers in his head, and the ensuing silence only makes it louder. 

Because once upon a time JJ’s felt fists against his skin, distorted yells and heavy metal music, and then he wondered what it felt like to kill something too. 

This feeling, though, this is, 

This is guilt, and nausea. This is nothing like pressing a gun to Topper’s head, except it sorta is, right? Both actions committed in preservation, the first to save John B, and now to save them all. JJ curls his free hand into a fist, stopping only when a pin-prick of pain erupts at the center of his palm. He focuses on it, on the pain in his hand and the nail-tracks deep in his palm, and attempts to shake his thoughts away. 

It’s always been hot and stuffy in the coop, but now JJ’s burning up. He predicted his legs would ache from crouching in one place after twenty minutes, and now, accordingly, they’re starting to. 

He’s aching and the chicken’s fucking cold now, but JJ’s burning up, he’s sweltering, he _needs air_. He needs these thoughts out of his head and he needs air, he needs to drop the chicken on the ground and to leave it on the ground because it’s making him sick. He lets it drop, and it makes a soft sorta _plop_ and its feather ruffle. 

JJ’s hand is damp with sweat. He feels sick. 

He wonders if Kiara knows that. 

When the Square Grouper’s GMC is a small black dot in the distance, John B removes his finger from his lips, and motions that it’s safe to come outside. He climbs out first, followed by Kiara, then Pope, and lastly JJ himself. 

The air is so cool and crisp in comparison to the coop that JJ laughs. 

“We survived,” he exclaims, all buzzed with relief. 

He’s so glad to be away from that ridiculous coop that he marches to the Château without bothering to check if it’s empty. Mercifully, it is. Or at least the porch is, which allows his nerves to untangle even further. 

JJ gives the backyard an appraising glance from where he’s standing: the ground is dusty, fresh with tire tracks which peel off down the road and out of sight, and his friends stand scattered in the space where the GMC Sierra once stood. 

Pope is the second one to break the silence, punctuating the air with a very loud, gaspy, “What the fuck?" 

“ _What the fuck_ is correct,” JJ says, rocking on his heels. He glances at the road, which is currently void of vehicles, then looks back at Pope. 

"C’mon,” he nods his head across the porch, towards the rest of the Château, “Let’s get inside in case they come back.” 

"We’re going _back_ into the place they just shot up?” Pope asks incredulously. 

JJ nods, fixing Pope with a look that signifies _duh_. “Yeah, man. It’s the last place they’ll look. No proper criminal comes back to trash the same place twice. Haven’t you ever seen a cop show?” 

Pope steps inside, grumbling something like _I don’t watch cop shows_ under his breath. 

JJ shakes his head. What a geek. He gives the dusty space one final glance. The ground is littered with rocks and twigs, small pebbles clumping together which JJ knows from experience hurt like a bitch to step on barefoot in the middle of the night. His gaze stops at Kiara, who hasn’t moved since her emergence from the chicken coop. Several strands of hair are plastered to her face, and her lips are a tight pressed line. 

“Kiara?” JJ asks. 

A small cloud of dust pools at her feet, which sticks to her sneakers. A beat passes, and Kiara doesn’t acknowledge that JJ had spoken, not even when he takes a small step closer, circling her. She’s tripping out, JJ thinks, watching Kiara stare dimly at the chicken coop as if she forgot something inside. 

“Kiara.” JJ repeats, and this time there’s worry clawing in his stomach. He swallows thickly when she remains unresponsive, because he wants to simultaneously shake her till she answers him and give her space, because that’s what people need when they’re tripping, or post-panicking, or whatever’s going through her skull. 

He settles for the giving space option, and instead of moving closer makes his presence known with a loud cough. Kiara turns, spinning around on a dusty heel. 

Her eyes are red-rimmed and wet, and when her gaze meets JJ’s own, she quickly wipes a hand across her cheeks to dry them. 

“Yeah,” she says, quietly. “I’m coming.” 

The first thing JJ does when inspecting the Château’s porch is let out a low whistle. 

“Damn,” he mutters, his gaze hopping from the broken banister to the screen door. The mesh window was twisted off and the brown doorknob hung at an angle as if kicked in. 

The rest of the house wasn’t much better. 

Big John’s office was ransacked, entire boxes of paper stolen, and those that remained were thrown to the ground, their contents spilling across the floor in a sea of papers. The kitchen was raided, too, for a reason Pope and John B - judging by their appalled expressions - can’t immediately fathom. For JJ, it’s pretty clear. Unless the Square Groupers thought John B had hidden valuable documents on the inside of a cup, the shattered dinnerware sent a clear message. _Don’t fuck with us,_ was both obvious and universal. 

Both mattresses were flipped on their sides, the one from John B’s room lay at an awkward angle halfway between the kitchen and living room, and the one from Big John’s was torn at the seam with some sort of large knife. Perhaps the only items left untouched were the pile of blankets and sheets neatly stacked inside the closet, which the Square Groupers had skipped altogether. 

“Maybe they were in the mood for a nap,” JJ suggests when John B questions it, because house-raids were a little too familiar for him, and this whole situation was starting to stress him out. 

“No, no. That’s not it.” John B responds urgently, impatiently. He’s clearly not in the mood for JJ’s banter, and sends a sharp, slightly disinterested look in his direction. “They were looking for something,” John B says. He paces around the destroyed living room. 

JJ raises an eyebrow from where he’s now slumped on the couch. “In here? Not to offend, man, but this place is a dump. Even before the Square Groupers trashed it.” 

John B stops moving, suddenly. There’s a look of realization on his face, and JJ waits for the _ah-ha_ moment, half-expecting a light bulb to turn on above his head. 

Slowly, John B reaches into his pocket, and pulls out something small and metal. It glints teasingly under a ray of sunlight from the window. In a serious voice, John B says, “They were looking for this.” 

JJ straightens to get a better look, but Pope beats him to the punch. 

“Your death compass?” Pope exclaims, staring from the compass to John B as if he had sprouted a second head. “That’s ridiculous.” For once, JJ can’t help but agree. 

“We could have been _killed_ ,” Pope explains, enunciating each syllable. “Does no one understand that? We could have been killed, and you think the Square Groupers attacked us with a bunch of guns all for the sake of your dad’s death compass?” 

John B says something in return, urgently, though at this point JJ isn’t listening. His attention’s caught on Kiara, who, up until now, had excused herself to investigate Big John’s office with more scrutiny. 

She now stands in the corner of the room. She’s stopped at an angle so her back faces him, but JJ can see she’s got one arm crossed over her chest, and the other pressed against her lips, as if she was trying to stop herself from crying. JJ gets to his feet. 

He doesn’t need to ask why she’s upset. Between the chicken-murdering and the almost-getting-killed, JJ knows Kiara must be a mess. 

Unfortunately, he’s all too familiar with the surge of adrenaline that comes with almost getting killed, and when that hormone finally dials down, your emotions spazz out, as if on crack. JJ’s the last person to admit that bottling up your feelings _isn't_ going to work, but right now, Kiara needed an outlet, she needed… 

Silence, for one thing. 

“Pope,” JJ snaps, momentarily turning away from Kiara, “Shut up.” 

If Pope looked offended, JJ doesn’t turn around to see it. Instead, he moves a step closer to Kiara, deciding his brilliant idea called Give Her Space didn’t work. He’s aware that Pope has finally stopped blabbering about death, and compasses behind him. 

“Look, Kie,” JJ starts, carefully. 

He wants to tell her she’s only feeling like this because her adrenaline’s through the roof and her emotions are roller coastering around with no Stop Ride button, that they’re all starving, and he’s sorry for killing the fucking chicken, but the words roll over and die when he tries to coherently express his thoughts. 

She’ll be okay, he knows it, and the word _outlet_ once more swims across his thoughts. He’s saved from having to elaborate; however, for Kiara swivels to face him once her draws near. 

“JJ.” She says. Her arms fall limply at her sides, and then she pulls him into a hug. 

JJ freezes at the sudden contact, but only momentarily, and his own arms come to rest around her waist. Kiara’s warm as she shakes against his chest, her arms wrapped around his body, smooth against the fabric of his shirt. 

Kiara’s not sobbing, but she’s trembling and making a sob-like noise, so JJ rubs a hand against her back in a motion he hopes is comforting. He’s not sure if it's working, but JJ doesn’t have much else in his comfort arsenal, so he just keeps doing it, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise circles. 

Kiara’s potential-sobs subside much faster than JJ had expected. He can feel her spine through the back of her shirt, sharp, and her skin is even warmer around her waist where her crop-top cuts off. 

She stops shaking but doesn't move away, so JJ stops rubbing in circles, and they sorta just stand there, and it doesn’t feel awkward, but there’s a burning in his stomach that JJ can’t decipher. It’s flaming, and a little exciting, which is weird given the current situation, but JJ chalks it up to relief that Kiara’s potentially feeling better. He feels a sudden, swooping calm knowing she’s no longer shaking, and he hopes Kiara is experiencing similar feelings of relief. JJ tightens his arms around her regardless, just to make sure Kiara knows he’s still here, and he won’t leave unless she wants him too. 

“ _Ahem._ ” A voice says. 

JJ almost winces, though his arms tighten around Kiara on instinct. He’d forgotten about the other occupants in the room, and when he tips his head to the left, staring over Kiara’s shoulder, he spies Pope standing in the center of the room. 

It feels weird, suddenly, holding Kiara in front of someone, and Pope’s presence ruptures the calm he’d been feeling moments ago. JJ drops his arms to his sides, skin feeling prickly at the loss of warmth, and steps back. 

He feels a flash of something - triumph? pride? - when Kiara steps back, considerably more composed than she was before. 

Her eyes are still puffy but no longer wet. JJ thinks she’s no longer tripping out, and he searches her face to confirm this. 

Kiara stares back, and JJ is torn. He’d prefer to stare at her a little while longer, but Pope is watching them both, a thorn in JJ’s side that makes this moment feel intruded upon, uncomfortable, and strange. 

“Alrighty,” JJ says, clapping his hands together as if he could physically shatter the awkwardness he feels. It must work, on some level, for Pope finds it fitting to break the silence even more. 

“You good?” Pope asks Kiara, and Kiara yanks her gaze away from JJ’s own, turns to Pope, and nods. 

“I’m fine,” she says. JJ doesn’t miss the way her face changes, though, eyebrows suddenly smooth, cheeks rising in a half-smile that seems a little too cheery. 

“Now,” Kiara states, oblivious to JJ’s assessment of her, walking over to Pope and brushing him on the shoulder, “Don’t you have a scholarship to write?” 

Pope’s face twists at the realization, and he darts from the room faster than humanly possible. JJ hears a door creak open, slam, and then Pope calls, “John B, can you give me a ride home?” 

"Me too!” Kiara yells from where she stands, loud enough so they can hear her. 

The voice that answers is grumpy, a tad humorous, and distinctly John B. 

“Get in the car, freeloaders!” He hollers from where JJ presumes is outside, and a moment later he hears the van rumble to life. 

“That’s my cue.” Kiara announces, though this time she’s talking to him. 

JJ raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. He has no current plans, just a chunk of free time stretching out before him, and despite the Square Groupers ransacking the Château, despite John B’s obsession with his father’s cursed compass, JJ is overwhelmingly glad Kiara feels okay. 

His gaze searches hers once more, just to make sure she isn’t faking it. 

Kiara can manipulate her expressions almost as fluidly as JJ can, he’s seen her do so when the situation calls for it, but right now he finds no pain hidden behind her eyes, no panic. Instead, her eyes are puffy but clear, hair wild around her head, and she looks more-or-less fine, albeit incredibly tired. 

He nods, slowly, his eyes never leaving her own. _Are you okay?_

Kiara meets his gaze, and nods back just as slow, answering his nonverbal question. The translation is clear: _I’m fine, really._ And he believes her. 

“Thank you,” she whispers as she leaves, and JJ shoots back a grin, finding he doesn’t need to ask what she’s thanking him for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Regularly scheduled programming: Resumed] As promised, this chapter is longer than the last one. It's also my favorite chapter, because it was fun to write, and the idea of JJ comforting Kiara sits well with me.
> 
> Moving onto episode two! Also, I don't know cars, so if anyone knows what the Square Grouper's truck/car/vehicle-or-choice is actually called, please let me know in the comments below. It'll be greatly appreciated. Google-ing pictures of "black trucks" can only get me so far. :)


	6. (1x2) recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[chickens clucking]_ \- part two
> 
> OR: Kiara leaves the chicken coop, and goes home. Featuring more of: emotional reactions to stressful situations are totally normal.

Kiara leaves the Château feeling emotionally a thousand times lighter, but physically, a complete, utter mess. 

During the entire fiasco, her hair had fallen out of her headband and now hung loosely down her shoulders, her makeup was smeared, replaced with dried up tear-stains and red, puffy cheeks.

After leaving Pope at Heyward’s, she mulls over her reflection anxiously, and has John B drive her to Figure Eight, and drop her off a couple miles from her house. 

The first thing she does as soon as John B’s brown van disappears around the corner is march into the nearest gas station, Met8, and clean up.

It is abundantly clear that the toilets at the Figure Eight are ten times nicer than the ones at the Cut. Despite living here her entire life, Kiara is still surprised to find the stall stocked with paper towels, extra rolls of toilet paper, and a container of green soap. There’s even a small vase of flowers positioned by the sink, supposedly to keep the smell away.

The shock she feels is a testament to how much time she’s been spending at the Cut lately, and despite the poor facilities she’s grown accustomed to, Kiara doesn’t regret a thing.

Kiara sighs, and looks at herself critically in the mirror. She knows she can’t come home looking like this - like she just got _shot_ at - because her parents would ask questions, and any figure of authority was the last thing they needed right now. So Kiara pin-points what her mother calls _obvious flaws_ in her reflection, determining how best to make them vanish before getting to work. 

She refreshes her lipstick, an appalling shade of red that her mother pressures her wear, and a light coat of mascara. She wipes her cheeks, arms, and legs, removing dust and soot. Crouching in a chicken coop for half an hour certainly contributed to the mess of dirt around her ankles, but Kiara’s able to remove this with running water and paper towels. She liberally applies deodorant, and sprays two shots of perfume into the air, which settles instantly on her skin and makes her nose itch.

There’s nothing she can do about the stains on her shorts, which stay on even after she scrubs them with warm water, so Kiara can only hope no one questions the slight color change. She yanks a jacket from her backpack which she ties around her waist, hoping it would disguise her shorts long enough for her to sneak them into the laundry room.

Kiara stops to look at her reflection once more. Here, in this posh restroom, it’s difficult to believe she was shot at mere hours ago, over a cursed compass, no less. That is, if that’s really what the Square Groupers were after, and not something a little more _valuable_ than that.

She fails to suppress the shudder that runs through her body at that thought, or the vivid memory which comes after. The Square Groupers pounding at the door, angry, insistent, and the pure terror coursing through her veins as their gunshots echoed outside. Her fear was agonizingly sharp, prettifying, and painful. It had felt so, so _disproportionate_ to the reactions her friends exhibited. Pope had started pacing, head in his hands. John B pressed his body against the door, blocking the entrance. He held himself completely still, as if shutting down.

JJ had momentarily frozen, head in his hands and mumbling, before racing for the nearest weapon. As if violence was the only way to defend himself. When that fell through, John B and JJ collectively found a way to get them all out. 

If Kiara didn’t know any better, she’d think it was strange, that they were all able to function under such immense, life-threatening pressure. Unfortunately, she knows better. 

Kiara admits that she’s lived a mostly sheltered life, yes, one in the Figure Eight, where people didn’t fall asleep to the sound of gunshots, or wake up to screams in the middle of the night. 

She isn’t used to violence. And she’s damn straight not ashamed of her reaction to it.

Two men had shot _bullets_ at her head. Of course she freaked out. It was fucking _scary._

Until JJ hugged her, that is. 

Kiara blinks. The thought rose into her head suddenly, strangely, though not unwelcome. It was a memory she hasn’t revisited until now, and when she blinks at her reflection, she sees her lips have curved up into a smile.

Only once she’s satisfied that her appearance doesn’t raise any red flags does Kiara wash her hands and leave. She lets the breeze air-dry her hands, so as to not waste any unnecessary paper products.

By the time Kiara walks home, careful to not smear any of her newly applied makeup, it’s nine, well past her usual dinnertime. 

Luckily, when Kiara opens the door, no one is waiting in the foyer, or yelling about her inexplicable tardiness. She wipes her shoes on the carpet as she closes the door behind her, and slips her sneakers off to the side. It’s light and airy, and Kiara hears the sound of candid, tv laughter, accompanied by music playing from the speakers somewhere from the tv room.

Kiara has just enough time to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear when she hears her mother’s footsteps turning the corner, suddenly in front of her.

“Kiara!” Her mother says.

“Hi, mom.” Kiara replies, giving her a hug. 

Lana is, as usual, the epitome of grace. She’s wearing a tank top and yoga pants. Her hair smells like the shampoo she had ordered from Paris this week, some sort of flower which was, of course, ripped from the plains of a French countryside and never replanted again.

Kiara follows her mother into the living room, but they part ways once Kiara veers left to dart up the stairs. She aims to discard her dirty clothes as soon as possible before anyone pays her any more notice, but her mother’s voice freezes her halfway up the steps.

“Where were you?”

Kiara forces herself to smile. It comes surprisingly easy, and believable. “Hanging out with Gemma.” She says.

Her mother frowns. “I spoke to Gemma’s mother this afternoon. She didn’t mention you came over.”

“That’s because I didn’t.” Kiara explains smoothly, having been prepared for this, elaborating as her mother’s face twists. “Gemma and I went to the park and walked around there.”

Her mother stares at her, and for a horrible moment, Kiara thinks she’s been caught. Her brain fires a series of defenses and excuses in case her mother decides to pursue the issue further, but the. her mother nods. “Alright.” She says, and Kiara nods back with a thin lipped smile. 

She starts up the stairs once more, but her mother’s voice stops her for a second time. “Oh, and Kiara?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t sit in the grass next time. Those shorts are horribly dirty.”

Kiara‘s jaw hurts as she clamps her teeth into a smile, and she waits until her mother vanishes from sight before sprinting into the bathroom. 

Once Kiara showers, grabs a quick snack, and changes into her pajamas, the house is asleep and quiet, save for the chirping of crickets echoing from the open hallway window which leads into their garden. Kiara whispers goodnight to both her parents before tiptoeing into her room.

As hard as she tries, however, Kiara can’t fall asleep. Thoughts intrude into her head like a swarm of marauders, and Kiara pushes herself out of bed in a huff. Sleep is useless, and given the late hour, she doesn’t expect herself to get a good night’s rest even if she did miraculously manage to fall asleep on the spot.

Her eyes float around her room instead, tracing each wall before landing on a sculpture of a boat positioned by her window. It was gifted to her last Christmas from an estranged aunt, one foot of long, carved wood, a sandy color that reminds Kiara of the beach. She stares at the sails, and blinks.

 _The charity project_ , Kiara realizes suddenly, and wants to hit herself for not remembering it sooner. Instead, she rolls her eyes at her own forgetfulness, but does forgive the memory lapse, as she had been a little preoccupied between the last time she saw JJ on the docks, and now. Mostly running from Square Groupers with guns, that is.

But the Square Groupers were gone now, and Kiara was safe, and home. No distractions. No plans. This hour, despite how late into the night it was, suddenly seemed like the perfect time to get started. 

Kiara sits down at her desk, logs onto her computer, and begins to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going on a bit of a tasertricks rampage (that's Darcy/Loki for all you people out there who don't keep up with this ship. Shout out to all those in the know, and Comment Below if you support tasertricks as much as I do :) ) I used to be a BlackFrost fan, but Tastertricks is my new Avengers obsession.


	7. (1x2) citizen JJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set directly after _[chickens clucking] - part 2_
> 
> OR: JJ and Kiara work together and are good people.

When JJ wakes up he is cold, though it doesn’t come as a surprise this time. After an entire week of sporadic, shifty sleep, he’d been expecting it, and JJ supposes waking up to anything besides ice-cold skin would now feel weird. 

The sun’s rays inform him that it’s slightly later into morning than he usually wakes up to, and the clock tipped precariously to one side, never restored to its original position, confirms this. He entertains the idea that his sleep schedule is correcting itself, but banishes that when he remembers he went to sleep not five hours ago.

JJ sighs, and stares at the wooden boards above his head. He felt off and strange, and not just due to his general lack of sleep. Like he was missing something.

“Hey,” a voice says, and JJ stiffens before he blinks, sees John B’s silhouette moving noisily from somewhere in the kitchen. “Look who decided to wake up.”

“Fuck off.” JJ mumbles, sitting up. 

The clanging from the kitchen intensifies, and when JJ looks up he sees John B tossing something into the sink. John B emerges from the kitchen two seconds later carrying two large sandwiches and two beers. He tosses one of each to JJ, who catches them both with a grumble from his stomach.

“ _Yes,_ ” JJ half-moans, and nods his appreciation to John B. “Thanks man.” He shoves both the beer and sandwich into his pockets. “Now I don’t need to steal a lunch.”

John B grins in return, and produces yet _another_ sandwich from behind his hand, which he starts to wolf down hungrily. 

JJ stumbles off into the bathroom, and proceeds with his morning ritual of splashing cold water on his face. The icey temperature clears his head instantly, and he wanders back to John B, wiping his hands on a towel nearby. Judging by the crumbs spread over the table, JJ assumes the first sandwich is now gone. It’s unusual to see this much food, or rather, this much _fresh_ food in the Château, considering the cheese went bad two days ago and John B no longer has an income, so JJ nods towards the leftovers crumbs.

“What’s with the three course meal?” He questions.

“Kiara’s been on my ass lately. Says I should eat more.” John B admits.

“Huh.” JJ says. _Kiara_. Her name strikes a cord. He still feels like he’s forgetting something. Something about this morning, something he had to do this morning… 

_Shit._

“Kiara.” JJ says. They agreed to meet up today to discuss the charity thing, and his dumb ass went and _forgot_.

John B looks up from his second sandwich. “What about Kiara?”

“Nothing,” JJ says quickly, instinctively, already scrambling to put on his shoes. “Look man, I gotta go. I’ll see you back here at five, yeah?” He calls over his shoulder, and looks back just in time to see John B’s face furrowed in confusion, despite his thumbs up held in the air.

When JJ finally makes it to the docks, he finds Kiara waiting for him. His stomach swoops when he sees her sitting with one smooth leg crossed over the other on the pier, but JJ presumes that’s out of guilt for being late.

“I thought you wouldn’t show.” Kiara says, once he jogs up to her.

“I overslept.” JJ admits, swallowing. “But, I got a meal out of it.” He produces the sandwich and beer from his pocket, the former a little crushed but who’s keeping track, and Kiara grins.

They talk casually while JJ drinks his beer, opting to save the sandwich for some later point during the day. Kiara occasionally takes swigs from his bottle, and JJ ignores the way her lips part slightly before each gulp. Instead, he listens as Kiara switches to the point of their meeting, the charity project. She uncrosses her legs, scoots over, and explains that she’s organized some drop points where people can donate their wood. 

“I figure we can space them out along the Cut, with more emphasis on extremely rural areas.” She reaches into her backpack as she talks, pulling out a small, square piece of paper, which she proceeds to unfold. 

It’s a map of the Cut; JJ recognizes the topography instantly. There are markings on it, small symbols scribbled next to buildings and streets. Color-coordinated labels accompany each house, painting the map with pin-pricks of color ranging from blue to yellow to red. There’s a list written on the side in Kiara’s neat script that includes at least twelve different types of wood, and below that a list of common items that are currently in short supply, such as _stairs_ , _floorboards_ , and _window panes_. There are even arrows drawn from specific houses back to these lists, though JJ only spies six or seven of those. 

“Jesus.” He says, inspecting her handiwork. “This is,” he falters around the word impressive, which, of course, it is. He picks out his house on the map, colored-coded with a red X, and John B’s, with an orange one. “Wow, Kie. This is amazing. When did you have time to do all this?”

“Last night.” Kiara replies, and although she doesn’t comment on the compliment, her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “After the Square Groupers came.”

She says it so casually that JJ almost chokes. He covers it up with a cough, swiftly, and points to some of the locations marked in red. “What do these mean?”

“I color-coordinated the houses based on necessity - who needs which resources the most, and who can wait a week to get them. Red is most urgent, and blue is least. At a certain point I had to estimate which houses should be placed under which category since I don’t know every person who lives in the Cut.” She sounds a little upset by this. “I prefer not to generalize, but I couldn’t really call anyone up in the middle of the night asking how much wood or metal they need. And the power is still out.”

JJ snorts. “Even if we had power, I doubt any Pogue would answer. As soon as they see your number’s from Figure Eight,” he draws a line across his neck, “Boom. Hang-up. No questions.”

Kiara probably suspected this, for she simply nods. Then, her face twists into concern. “I’m a Kook,” she starts, and then raises her voice against JJ’s immediate protests. 

“You’re _not_ -”

“Okay,” she concedes. “But I live in Kooklandia. People on the Cut know that. Would Pogues even agree to donate to the charity if I’m involved? Will they even accept the donations?”

JJ rolls his eyes, because she can’t be serious, but Kiara continues. “JJ, we both know Kooks are despised on this side of the island. What if my, my association as a Kook makes me unreliable?” Her voice had been growing steadily louder as she spoke, and now wobbles, slightly, a combination of nerves breaking free. 

JJ stares at her. 

She was serious, he realizes. The conclusion comes as a shock, and annoys him more than he cares to admit. Because of course Kiara was a Pogue, and it never occurred to him to think otherwise, or that she might think otherwise, too. Judging by the way she spins her wristbands with one hand, nervously, rapidly, and the way her eyes dart anywhere but his face, this is a thought Kiara has been sitting on for some time. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” JJ says, still staring at her, though he manages to school his expression into an unsurprised one. “You’re a Pogue, everyone around here knows it. And if anyone has a problem with that, they’ll have to go through me, kapeesh?” He points to himself.

When Kiara doesn’t respond, JJ nods at her intently, dark eyes clashing with her own. _You know that, right?_

She blinks at him, and her features unwind, shoulders drop and the hand turning the wristbands stills altogether, no longer is concern etched into her body posture. She nods back. _I understand._

JJ smiles, a wave of triumph coursing through his chest. Settled, he returns his attention to her map once more. “I can talk to my guys, get them to deliver wood to these places.” He points at ten X’s with each finger, marked in yellow and green. “Your dad’s still gonna donate food, right?”

Kiara screws her lips to the side. “Scrap food, yes.” 

JJ waves a dismissive hand. “Call it whatever you like. But just know these guys won't work for free. As long as you have something valuable to give them, in this case good ol’ fashioned tourist chum, they’ll do it. How soon can you get the food over to the Cut?”

Kiara blinks, as if surprised by his promptness, though she responds immediately. “This afternoon.”

JJ nods. “Good. I’ll meet you there,” he points towards the bait-and-tackle shop, “and we can make the exchange.” He lowers his voice in an exaggerated manner, “Bring the food in an unmarked box. Make sure no one follows you.” 

Kiara snorts. “Should I wear all black, as well?” 

“The black’s optional.” JJ replies smoothly. 

Kiara grins, then glances at the bait-and-tackle shop. JJ follows her gaze. The front two walls were still missing, but someone had done repairs on the roof, the patches of fresh shingles an abnormal yellow color in comparison to the worn, brown ones.

“Project WoodWork’s really coming together.” Kiara says softly, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

JJ raises a questioning brow. “ _WoodWork?_ ”

Kiara ducks her head, and if JJ didn't know any better, he’d think she was blushing. “That’s what I’ve been calling it.”

JJ hums. “WoodWork’s great, but how about something more appropriate. Like, JJ Heroically Helps Society. Or, JJ’s Amazing Community Service To The Cut.”

“That’s kinda a mouthful, don’t you think?” 

He shrugs good-naturally. “That depends what you can do with your tongue, Kie.” 

This time she definitely blushes, JJ can see it creeping up her cheeks. JJ can’t help but smirk at her, and Kiara actually _giggles._ He finds the sound makes his chest twitch. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she responds, and now it’s JJ’s turn to stutter. He hides it well, but there’s something knowing in Kiara’s smile when he looks at her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JJ is genuinely a good person. The show often portrays him as rash and impulsive and willing to fight anyone over the smallest confrontation, which he definitely is (thanks for that A+ Parenting Luke), but I find it hard to believe JJ wouldn't help Kiara with Project Woodwork. Especially since JJ's lived his entire life on the Cut, so he knows how shitty it is to live there. JJ would probably take any chance to help his neighborhood out, there just hasn't been one presented to him until now.


	8. (1x2 ) citizen Kiara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still set after _[chicken clucking] - part two_
> 
> OR: Kiara and JJ do some WoodWorking, and the trip to the lighthouse is a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY WAIT I’ve got to make a HUGE shout-out to Alphinia for commenting almost on every single chapter.... you’ve been my one-man supportive cheer squad! :) 
> 
> I also appreciate anyone who commented twice! There’s a ~small group of users who have done this and just know I appreciate you!!

Project WoodWork goes surprisingly smooth.

JJ meets her by the bait-and-tackle shop that afternoon as promised, along with a group of Pogues in an assortment of dirt-covered trucks. Five have paper bags instead of windows, secured to the doors with several variations of tape, and Kiara counts ten that are missing tail lights. Inwardly, Kiara congratulates herself on her decision to walk here by foot, and leave her vehicle at home. Showing up in a visibly expensive car, even if Kiara didn’t purchase it herself, would only solidify her reputation as a full-on Kook. 

Kiara waits until everyone has gathered, forming a loose cluster around the shop. Most stand or slouch, though several lower themselves into white plastic chairs, left outside by a previous occupant. 

There’s about thirty Pouges in total. Kiara doesn’t recognize any of them. JJ must know that, for he proceeds to give brief introductions, pointing out each Pogue with a grin. From the way he talks, easy and carefree, it’s clear he knows them well.

“This is Skeet, works in the laundromat; Clyde, my neighbor; Janice, Clyde’s wife. Clark, who buses tables for Kooks; Lila, works as a secretary in the Hotel, and Pogo, doesn’t speak a word of English, but runs tight security by the docks.” 

The list goes on, and Kiara commits each name to memory as best she can. When JJ’s done, she pauses, and clears her throat.

“As JJ must have mentioned, I’m Kiara. I’d like to thank you all for agreeing to help out, it really means a lot.” Her tone is bright, and Kiara is entirely sincere in her commendations.

There’s a chorus of mutters in response, and a stocky man in moon-shaped spectacles - Clyde - waves a hand at her.

“No, no. You’re the one we should be thanking. Organizing this whole business.” He pushes his spectacles further up his nose as he says this, and another wave of whispers breaks out. People grin and smile. The energy floating in the air is content and excited, and the worry Kiara had been feeling on her lack of Pogue-ness rolls over and fades away. 

The remainder of the exchange moves just as fluidly. Kiara doles out boxes of food to each Pogue labelled (taking up JJ’s suggestion to sugarcoat the title) _The Wreck’s Finest_ , with portions of The Wreck’s food packaged inside. These boxes are placed inside each truck, along with helpings of wood piled into plastic bins. Kiara gives instructions on how to handle and distribute said wood, and JJ chimes in, occasionally translating more-complex sentences for Pogo into Spanish.

As the Pogues drive off in a cloud of dust and engine hums, Kiara can’t help but feel enormously pleased. WoodWork was off, and the metaphorical ball was rolling.

She chats with JJ as they walk back to the Château, throwing out random assumptions as they try to guess how long Project WoodWork will last. JJ bets a week till they run out of wood, and a week and a half till the Pouges lose interest in the idea. Kiara goes for a slightly more optimistic approach, countering JJ’s guesses with her own. 

“People want to do good,” she explains. “Everyone’s just waiting for that one good thing to happen, and then they’ll all join in on it. Which is why,” and here she pauses for dramatic effect, “I bet a whole month before any Pouge even _begins_ to lose interest.”

All in all, Kiara’s spirits are kept relatively high. She has an unusually great time listening to JJ’s chatter, and soon he launches into a particularly captivating story about how he stole his first surfboard at the age of seven. JJ must realize he’s piqued her interest, for he dives into elaborate demonstrations of how he found the surfboard in the first place, altering his voice to represent the various characters present during the fiasco.

By the time they reach John B’s, Kiara’s sides ache from laughing, and JJ’s got a grin on his face that refuses to budge. Kiara doesn’t remember the last time she felt this free, this happy, and maybe that’s why she agrees to go with John B to Redfield Lighthouse, despite the obvious concocting that is going on.

Things go rapidly downhill from there. The trip to the Lighthouse is a _disaster_ : John B smashes the ranger’s arm into the glass (causing yet another mad-dash from the cops), they learn basically close to nothing, and then John B kisses her on the lips.

Kiara freezes. Then, her stomach twists. Their lips meet, and it’s supposed to be passionate, she’s supposed to lean towards him in response, but all Kiara can think about is how much fun she was having earlier compared to now. Her sides still burn, slightly, from her laughter-fest with JJ, and she’s not sure why that’s what does it, but Kiara’s suddenly pushing John B away.

He looks back at her, his confused expression mirroring Kiara’s own.

Kiara doesn’t understand what the problem is. She _likes_ John B. _Like-likes_ him in that stupid way Kooks used to talk about in middle school at sleepovers and inside pillow forts, revealing secrets under the cover of darkness that they would never tell another soul.

But this kiss - a full kiss, a real kiss - doesn’t make her stomach burn the way it normally does. The fire under her skin didn’t explode under John B’s lips, instead, it burned out. He tasted salty, and his chest was damp from sweat. It was _awkward_. The only thing Kiara can think of, the only possible explanation, is the Rules, _no pogue-on-pogue macking_. 

That’s obviously why she feels this way. As if she’s doing something wrong. As if she’s kissing someone wrong. There’s no other way around it.

And then, because Karma’s a vengeful bitch, John B gets arrested, and Kiara’s left standing on the beach with his compass in one hand, the metal lukewarm, just like her body. Kiara stands there for a solid three minutes, and pushes all her stupid, confusing, like-like feelings for John B aside. Then, she walks back towards Figure Eight, pulls out her phone, and asks her dad to bail John B out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving onto 1x3 next, stay tuned. ALSO, posted a Tasertricks fic. *shameless plug* I'm not sure how many Outer Banks fans are also Tasertrickians, but I guess I'll find out. :)
> 
> Addendum: finally got around to making one of these.... come talk to me about OBX on tumblr! noellesthings.tumblr.com


	9. (1x3) try and plummet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”It’s a tape recorder, dumbass.”_
> 
> OR: John B finds the tape recorder, and JJ tries some introspection. Secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for anyone who expected my usual update yesterday and were disappointed when it didn’t come. More on that at the bottom of the chapter.
> 
> Anyway, plowing onwards to Episode Three! As mentioned, there will be attempts at introspection, secrets revealed, and JJ’s reaction to said secrets is very interesting indeed....

JJ was possibly the most surprised out of all of them, excluding John B, to hear Big John’s voice on that tape recorder. He’s still shocked, hours later, after both Kiara and Pope have left, and keeps glancing at it, as if the recorder would suddenly jump off the table and run into the night.

“Would you knock it off?” John B snaps loudly, after JJ twists to glare at it for the tenth time that night.

“ _Woah._ ” JJ enunciates, lifting his arms in a _hands-off_ gesture. “Can’t a person look at a tape recorder without getting yelled at around here? Last I checked, this was still a free country.” 

JJ raises his brows in faux aggression, but John B just mutters something under his breath. JJ senses he’s serious, unusually so tonight, so he drops the comedy act, yanking his gaze away from the recorder in an exaggerated manner, just to be sure John B sees that he did so.

The lights are off, and it’s late enough that the moon is the only source of light, but JJ can still see John B relax across the room, tension sagging from where his silhouette lay on the mattress. Neither one of them bothered to pick it up after the Square Groupers came, so it stays in its awkward position between John B’s room and the kitchen. JJ sighs, and sits up from where he was lying on the couch.

He’s crashing at the Château again. It’s been two months now, but JJ knows that John B would mention it if he minded, and he hasn’t. Hopefully never will. 

“It’s just really weird. Like, _X Files_ weird.” JJ tells him. “Honestly, I didn’t think we’d find anything.” 

Furtively, he glances at the tape recorder once more, as if to confirm that it was really there. The FedEx package lies beside it, the white paper almost glowing in the darkness, while the words _For Bird_ are obscured entirely. 

The map they found has been neatly folded up, and now lay inside the package once more, purely for safety reasons. Knowing their tendency for trouble, the general conclusion was that the map should be safeguarded, otherwise one of them would probably end up spilling beer all over their valuable clue.

John B doesn’t respond to JJ’s comment, but JJ isn’t offended. He can’t imagine what John B must be feeling right now, in more ways than one.

So he lies back down, and wonders what it’s like to miss someone that much, that you refuse to believe they’re dead even after an entire year passes in silence. He wonders what it’s like to accept that, and then find out that person wasn't dead all along.

And suppose John B’s old man does come back? What then? Would he allow JJ to stay here?

It’s a sobering concept. Introspection is not JJ’s strong suit, for good reasons, because suddenly he’s diving straight into those deep dark thoughts he’s been ignoring for a while now, and all JJ can think about is pain. Pain, and what if JJ does get kicked out of the Château and onto the streets, there are _zero_ homeless shelters in the Cut, which means, which means,

he’d have to go home.

JJ’s stomach clenches and twists, and suddenly he’s all cold all over, ice creeping up his skin, freezing his blood and he’s surprised the tips of his fingers aren’t blue. Instead of letting out a shudder, JJ reaches out and yanks a quilt over his legs, the red and black one, and waits for his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

John B’s house is suddenly a very useful distraction, and JJ stares up at the boards above his head, urging himself to inspect the swirls in the wood. It feels very forced, because it is forced, and he knows he’s only doing this to distract himself, which doesn’t really make things better. In fact, it makes things worse, because now all JJ can only think about what he’s trying to distract himself from, fists and bruises and too loud music blasting in his ears, yells of agitation. 

JJ flips over on his side.

From here, he can see just the outline of John B’s head where he lay on the mattress, the outline of his hair sloping dismally like sandy hills. Beyond that, a set of cups and dishes were arranged haphazardly on the counter. The small collection of dinnerware was all they were able to salvage from the house invasion. JJ stares at them intently, willing his cold-flash to melt away. 

There was the cup with yellow stripes on it, and a second one in matching stripes of red, referred to as the Coffee Set, since, more often than not, if there was ever coffee present, the beverage could be found inside. Five white plates sat under them, and under those plates lay three brown ones, JJ knows this because Kkara had meticulously organized them earlier that day, calling out the number of dishes available for use at the end of her task.

There were six bowls resting upside down on a towel to the right, which had all acquired a blue-ish color, permanently stained from that time John B had left them stewing in a pile of bleach.

This time, the distraction works. 

JJ finds his heart rate growing steady once more, and he eventually tosses the quilt off so it only covers his knees and ankles. His skin no longer blisters in the room, and his fingers have stopped their numbing prickle. JJ’s brain feels safe enough to _think_ again, so he lazily peruses everything that happened today: starting project WoodWork, the disastrous trip to Redfield Lighthouse, and the still-disastrous, albeit useful break-in at the graveyard, where they discovered the tape-recorder and FedEx note.

They never would have gotten into that place if not for Kiara, squeezing herself into that tombstone which was most likely filled to the brim with snakes. And Kiara didn’t even plan on coming in the first place, so without her they would have been totally screwed. 

JJ frowns at the memory. “Hey,” he asks into the silence, “What happened with Kiara?”

JJ can’t remember the last time Kiara refused to join them on one of their bizarre adventures, and if she has a problem with one of them she usually admits it face-to-face. Avoidance for Kiara was atypical unless the matter was truly serious, and judging by the way John B instantly shifts on his mattress, he knew exactly what JJ was asking about.

“Well?” JJ probes.

There’s silence. 

“I kissed her.” 

JJ’s stomach drops. “ _What?_ ”

“I kissed Kiara.” John B repeats.

JJ’s not sure when his skin started burning again, but suddenly it‘s so intense he almost can’t think straight. Again. His first thought is, stupidly, to conclude that that’s twice John B has kissed Kiara, which is irrelevant, but makes his skin flame once more.

He’s angry. 

He’s annoyed. 

He has no idea why.

JJ picture’s Kiara’s face, twisted in concern when she found out John B’s father went missing. Remembers her kissing John B aboard the HMS Pogue, _diver down_ , but that hadn’t meant anything, right?

His mind helpfully supplies an image of John B and Kiara, holding hands in the chicken coop. Their embrace is annoyingly clear.

“And?” JJ probes when John B doesn’t elaborate, his voice surprisingly harsh. 

JJ hears John B shakes his head. “I dunno. We agreed to be friends. Because of the Rules, you know?”

JJ’s not sure what sound he makes, then, or what it signals to John B, but it must be something close to confusion, for John B clarifies, “No pogue-on-pogue macking, remember?”

“Right.” JJ says. When the muscles in his jaw sting, JJ realizes he’d been clenching them, and brings a hand up which he rubs against his chin. “No, totally.” He adds, throwing in a half-chuckle.

JJ stares into the blackness, _something_ bubbling inside his stomach, low, and threatening to burst. He’s pissed and he’s annoyed, and for a single, unthinkable moment, he’d like nothing more than to punch John B in the face. It’s gone a second later, and JJ’s left blinking in the ceiling and shaking his head at thin air, wondering where the Hell that thought had come from.

Sleep, that fucker, is difficult after that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been experiencing a slight lack of motivation in finishing this fic. There are a lot of fandoms out there, and recently Outer Banks has been pushed into a very small corner of my mind. As such, I didn’t update yesterday. I have everything written out except the last three or so chapters, and I’ve pushed myself into a rut in terms of completing them.
> 
> So, in conclusion, I’ve tossed myself into a metaphorical ditch. It’s cold down here.


	10. (1x3) dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”To going full Kook.”_
> 
> OR: Kiara can picture it.

“I’m gonna get a big ass house on Figure Eight, and go full Kook,” JJ says, and Kiara can totally picture it: JJ, chilling in a mansion in the middle of Kooklandia. One of those three-story ones. The koi-fish-filled-pool would probably be gigantic, equipped with a sprinkler system that rapidly dispensed beer.

“To going full Kook,” John B agrees, and they all toast to it, cans of beer colliding with soft clatters of tin against tin - a silent promise to achieve the impossible.

Her resulting sip of beer tastes sweet - like victory. Kiara holds the can loosely in one hand, basking under the night sky. It’s undeniably pleasant sitting by the water: the air warm enough that she can get away with wearing short sleeves; the light chatter of her friends floats around her, along with faint splashes and bubbles emerging from the water below. It’s the most calm she’s felt all day, and, for a moment, Kiara lets herself pretend it’s real. 

That they’d all get matching mansions side-by-side, and maybe they’d take turns staying in different ones, living on their own, and just…. soak in all that independence.

Kiara admits, despite the chlorine-filled environment the koi fish would undoubtedly suffer through under JJ’s care, JJ painted an appealing picture, and she understands the sentiment behind it: all of them rich, all of them safe, all of them happy.

Together.

She grins again. JJ would have to attend all the proper Kook functions that Kiara’s learned to loathe, the middle of the day luncheons, awards towards various parents for their contributions to the Figure Eight community, and nightly cocktail parties. Kiara’s had her fair share of all four, and they’re usually a complete nightmare. On top of sitting in an obnoxiously over-priced dress, she has to make polite small-talk with the same people who regularly insult her friends, and beat them on a daily basis. The idea of JJ participating in such events - all casual banter about the weather and whose family is hosting tomorrow’s grand dinner - makes her chuckle.

JJ pauses at that, frozen mid-demonstration on how he’d attach a keg to his mansion’s bathroom sink. He shoots Kiara a confused glance. “What’s so funny?” 

This, of course, only makes Kiara laugh louder. JJ simply grins, non-affronted, and sends her a bemused smile. Then, he goes back to his active description of the keg-sink.

 _Yep_ , Kiara concludes. There’s _no_ chance JJ could ever sit still long enough to get through either of the above events. 

Still, her mind procures a picture of JJ dressed for the occasion: fresh in a suit, dark and ubiquitous, perfectly tailored to his size, all sharp and neat and clean, his features angular… The image is so striking, so different from his usual attire that she has to blink several times to regain focus, and even then Kiara can’t truly shake the idea of Kook JJ away. Instead, it floats - lazily, tauntingly, coaxingly around her.

JJ in a suit.

Kiara tries to speak, and finds her entire mouth has gone _dry._ Which, in turn, makes her stomach furl.

JJ. In a suit. 

She blinks.

Her mouth has gone dry at the thought of _JJ in a suit._

Where the Hell had that come from?

Kiara shakes her head, and takes a larger, longer swig of beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today. And the next one will also be short, so I might decide to post two this week to make up for that. 
> 
> Anyway, motivation has struck me over the head like a bolt of motivating.... things. So I’ve been editing and tentatively planning an ending to this fic. Many thanks to everyone who’s commented on the last chapter, (sorry I haven’t had time to respond to each comment personally) your words were so nice and inspiring! Really got me off my ass and working again.
> 
> Last but super important thing: check out JIARA JULY JUBILEE on tumblr (noellesthings.tumblr.com). Jiara fic week is coming up late July, and there are a bunch of prompts on there to encourage fanfic writers to write Jiara-focused fics. The hosts are all super amazing writers, so please join!


	11. (1x3) compromises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I swear to God, I’m gonna throw that thing in the ocean, JJ.”_
> 
> OR: The Pogues go to the hotel.

Their van swivels to a stop outside of the Hotel with a screech, parking across the street where they have a direct, clear view of the building. 

It looks unblemished by Agatha’s disaster: red shingled roof; walls practically glistening with fresh, white paint; surrounded by a tapestry of trees and shrubs, and not a single leaf is out of place.

JJ isn’t surprised. 

That’s the way things work: Kooks get the Good Life, the Best of the Best to fit their desires, and Pogues get everything less than that. He knows this, he’s internalized this, but he still can’t help but compare.

The Cut looked like someone flushed every building down an industrial-sized toilet, and then smashed the remains in with a hammer. There’s only one hotel on the Cut, and it’s a Motel 6 with peeling grey paint (which now looks brown thanks to Agatha) and one working bathroom. Recently, the Motel installed color tv, so that was a plus.

JJ normally feels an innate sense of _wrong_ at the thought of entering a Kook establishment - they all do, aside from Kiara, that is - sorta like he’s been placed into someone else’s skin, someone rich, someone who actually belongs here. He feels the same now, but it’s dialed down a notch, probably because he’s got John B, Kiara, and Pope at his side. It also helps that he’s been inside this Hotel before. Albeit, sneaking into the Hotel under the guise of a busboy doesn’t _really_ count, but it still puts JJ slightly more at ease since he can clearly picture their escape routes (an emergency exit in the computer room, and a small window next to that) in case shit goes south. Which it very well might.

Right now, JJ can list twenty different Kooks who’d get pissed off at a bunch of Pogues dipping into their internet, so he’s going in prepared.

“We’re behind enemy lines.” JJ announces, not really joking, and lifts his gun up in one hand.

He expects the tirade of _no’_ s and _don’t’_ s that follow, and JJ ignores them all until he hears Kiara’s voice.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna throw that thing in the ocean, JJ.” 

When JJ twists to look at her, Kiara’s expression matches her tone. Eyes grave, frowning, not quite angry, but definitely close to it, and insistent. She’s staring at him, not at the gun, which is, it is,

The gun is heavy in his hand. It feels like protection - smooth and cold and quick.

He really should take it. 

Even if Kiara doesn’t want him to.

It’s safer that way. John B seems to forget that JJ’s gun saved his life, that in the past week they’ve been shot at, followed, chased, and had more near-death experiences than the number of bullets said gun contained. JJ was bringing the gun, no question. They needed it to be safe. JJ rolls his tongue along the top of his teeth, opens his mouth to tell them all what, exactly, they can do with their demands, and,

“JJ.” Kiara says. 

He’s not sure why that does it. Kiara’s said his name a thousand times before and then some, but he wilts under that tone. Because suddenly Kiara’s eyes are pleading him, not cold like gun-metal but softer, and there’s something there, hope, maybe, woven underneath her voice. 

She’s staring at him like she knows he’ll make the right choice, her choice, and she’s giving him a chance to do so.

JJ finds, suddenly, he doesn’t want those eyes to harden into disappointment. So when John B grabs the gun from JJ’s hand, JJ lets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter.


	12. (1x3) personal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But the drone’s there. It’s in the impound yard out back.”_
> 
> OR: The Pogues discuss Drone Extraction. Kiara has no doubts.

They leave the Hotel quickly, rushing out without managing to attract too many stares. The trip seems like a massive success from Kiara’s point of view, and she says so as she slides smoothly into the backseat of the van, slamming the door behind her.

While John B drives them to the salvage yard, they discuss their plans to steal the drone, tentatively named Drone Extraction. Even Pope joins in, despite his own reluctance, when he realizes that there’s no way he can convince them to stay on the right side of the law. Privately, Kiara agrees, she’d rather not add _criminal_ to her otherwise spotless resume, but on the other hand, four hundred million dollars was… intense. Worth it. And the drone was literally placed into an impound yard, abandoned there. Just one more piece of expensive technology collecting dust, made from materials that would ultimately take hundreds of years to decompose _and_ release toxic chemicals in the process. Besides, they’d only take the damn thing for a day.

JJ delineates some verbal blueprints, providing the specifics they’d need once inside the impound yard: where they’d find the drone, what the passcode to the lock was, and where the guard, Bobby, sat to make sure no one did anything illegal - such as stealing a drone, for instance.

The whole thing is cheerful and communicative, and reminds Kiara of her brainstorming session with JJ not too long ago.

It leaves a glow in her chest, small yet pleasant, at the memory, and she realizes they hadn’t had a chance to discuss how Project WoodWork was going so far. Kiara considers bringing it up right there and then, but a flash of reluctance runs through her veins, insistent, surprising, and she stops herself. 

Project WoodWork was _their_ thing - her and JJs. It was an idea born together on the docks, refined together, and put into action together. Theirs.

She reasons that it would be weird to suddenly entangle John B and Pope in a conversation of which she’s sure they have no interest in. And if they didn’t care, why should she even bring it up in the first place?

Glancing at JJ, Kiara wonders if he feels the same way. JJ is boastful about pretty much anything he does, and Kiara had been certain JJ would announce their impromptu charity work the moment Project WoodWork was jostled into action. The fact that he hasn’t brought it up to either John B or Pope pleases her immensely.

It’s as if they have a secret, one that they alone are privy to. And it might be selfish, but Kiara likes it that way. It’s not even a _big_ secret, certainly not one that violates _no secrets amongst Pogues_ because Kiara _will_ tell John B and Pope about it, but only when they ask. For now, she wants to keep WoodWork to themselves. Besides, Pope and John B already have so many things to discuss amongst themselves, it’s only fair that Kiara and JJ have their own thing, too. 

Decided, Kiara re-joins the conversation on how to extract the drone, and promises herself to discuss WoodWork with JJ some other time in private.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short chapter, oops.


	13. (1x3) only musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”We’re not stealing the drone. We’re borrowing it.”_
> 
> OR: They get the drone. JJ muses.

Drone Extraction goes off with several, small issues, and JJ supposed they should have ironed out the finer details before springing into the salvage yard - making sure they had the correct combination, for instance, or creating a back-up plan in case Kiara failed to distract Bobby for a sufficient period of time. Unfortunately, or fortunately, that’s not how their group operates.

JJ feels slightly bitter after his interaction with Bobby, the lie he told the guard edging a little too close to the truth for JJ’s comfort, but by the time JJ jogs back to the van, he’s removed it from his mind. When he’s feet away from the brown, dust-ridden vehicle, the door slides open, and JJ sees John B’s already inside, along with Pope, and Kiara. 

“C’mon JJ, get in.” Kiara says urgently from the driver’s seat, and John B echoes the sentiment from where he sits riding shotgun. JJ swings inside and the door closes behind him with a slam. There’s a millisecond of silence where the group exchanges quick, surveying glances, making sure no one’s sporting a bite mark or split rib. Then, John B starts to grin.

“You got the drone!” JJ exclaims, and John B’s responding laugh confirms it. 

John B fiddles with something near his seat, and produces a large, yellow box which he places in the center of the van. It’s about as high as JJ’s knee, and made entirely of plastic. Three black clasps sat on the left hand side, giving it the appearance of a bumblebee.

“Huh.” JJ says, after a beat. “That’s the drone?”

“No, you idiot.” Pope snaps. “That’s the casing.”

“Jeez,” JJ says, rolling his eyes, “Excuse me for not knowing that.”

“We’re dealing with thousands of dollars worth of equipment,” Pope informs him. “Of course it needs a case.”

“Whatever, man. Just open it.”

Carefully, Pope does. The vehicle is silent with anticipation, a collective breath held within their chests. Each clasp unlocks with a resounding click, and as Pope peels the yellow case open, that bated breath exhales with a single gasp. Pope’s shoulders sag instantly, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds like _Dear God_. JJ waits an entire five seconds for Pope to moan or pray or whatever dorks do when they’re in the presence of superior technology, and then leans over Pope’s shoulder to inspect it himself. 

As drones go, it looks cool. The drone’s got cameras and lights, and an aluminum frame (which Pope informs them is called a chassis) for buoyancy. It looks immensely complicated to operate, which is why Pope smacks JJ’s hands away when he reaches to fiddle with a colored wire protruding from the side.

“Looks good.” Pope says, after he completes his inspection. “All we need to do is test it out somewhere, make sure the camera works.”

“Alright.” JJ exclaims, and then turns to Kiara, “Take us out of here, Captain.”

“Roger that,” Kiara states, giving him a quick salute to confirm his order, and peels down the street.

When they pause at a stop sign, Kiara twists to give JJ and Pope a questioning look. “So, how did Drone Extraction go overall?”

“Easy,” JJ coos, drawing the word out long and slow.

“Yeah, right.” Pope mutters. “If you count almost getting mauled by Bobby and his dog _easy_.”

“No one was mauled, man.” JJ says. “Tebow couldn’t hurt a fly.” A pretty obvious lie, but no one calls him on it.

Pope looks mildly offended that JJ dismissed the potential dog-mauling so quickly, and his mood doesn’t improve when JJ smacks him on the shoulder with a grin. “Besides, we got the drone, didn’t we? Mission success in my book.”

“It’s an ROV,” Pope corrects him sourly, and JJ snorts. 

“Dork.”

“How’d it go on your end, Kiara?” John B asks, cutting off Pope’s response before their minor conflict had a chance to spiral.

“Perfect.” Kiara sing-songs. “That guard was _played_.” JJ can practically hear the grin in her tone, peppered with victory.

Pope shakes his head. “I will never understand how you distracted that guard for so long.”

Kiara’s shoulders lift into a shrug. “I guess he liked what he saw,” she says casually, and from the driver's seat John B snorts, and Pope’s eyes grow so wide that they’re almost fluorescent.

“Don’t we all.” JJ responds smoothly, and decides to not to comment on Pope’s cough, which erupts from Pope’s chest at JJ’s comment, and doesn’t subside till minutes later.

Kiara explains, in finer details, her end of Drone Extraction, gloating how _easy_ it was to distract Bobby under the guise of a flat tire. She’s half-chuckling, shaking her head in between sentences and thoughts, unaware of the pressure settling in JJ’s chest.

He doesn’t understand why he feels like this. There’s a stone inside his body that even the surgeon couldn’t remove, and needles in his blood, burning and prickling incessantly, as if he fell asleep wrong and now his entire skin feels numb. JJ frowns at the trees which zip by his window, wishing he was somewhere else. He keeps picturing Kiara, Kiara next to Bobby, Bobby staring at her legs… 

JJ’s hand curls into a fist. He’s suddenly glad he lied to Bobby earlier.

JJ shakes his head.

So what if Bobby _looked_ at Kiara? And so what if she _kissed_ John B? JJ doesn’t care, he’s just feeling, protective, over her, or something.

Settled, JJ re-joins the conversation once more, relieved that, finally, Kiara’s switched the conversation to what they should eat for dinner.

There are words tugging in his head, distantly, faded, but impossible to ignore. _Deny, deny, deny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write because Finally there’s some dialogue (however short) between the Pogues. The way JJ and Pope irritate each other is gold.  
> Here’s where I scream **THANK YOU** from the mountain tops for your continued support and attention! (As I’ve mentioned to people who follow me on tumblr:) Even if I do not immediately reply, I am reading every single one of your comments and they really make my day!
> 
> ((Come bother me: noellesthings.tumblr.com))


	14. (1x3) secrets which break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”You can’t tell anybody. I’m serious, dude. Not Kie, not John B, nobody.”_
> 
> OR: JJ always keeps his secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that’s right, two chapters in one week! Deviation from routine is healthy, I suppose.

When Pope and JJ return from delivering groceries to Figure Eight, something is _off._

The HMS Pogue pulls up beside Kiara with all its usual grace and glory, which is to say it grinds to a stop with a wince-inducing screech, and the boat wobbles dangerously to one side - as if uncertain it wanted to obey the laws of gravity. 

JJ and Pope stand side by side in the center, talking, and it takes a moment for Kiara to realize that she’s wrong; JJ’s talking _at_ Pope, and Pope’s just sorta standing there, shrugging JJ off, as if he doesn’t want to listen. His posture is closed off, hands crossed tightly over his chest, scowling, and conveys a variety of curse words Pope would never utter in real life. JJ must notice it, but he keeps blabbering anyway.

Which is weird. They’re all friends for a reason - shortly put, they get along. Pope’s generally talkative, and even though he and JJ have minor arguments here and there, they’re always amicable and well-spirited, never lasting more than a couple minutes at a time. 

Kiara only knows a number of things that can close Pope down this much, and runs through them in her head, briefly, in order of urgency: death in the family, trouble in the family, trouble with friends, but that can’t be it, since Kiara’s fine, John B’s fine, and JJ’s clearly talkative as ever. She was just with Heyward hours ago, and the man seemed as healthy as usual, all bark, little bite, and she even got him to donate his collected piles of shingles to Project WoodWork. That eliminated everything except Pope’s scholarship.

Kiara’s not sure what could have happened to the academic award to push Pope into this funk, but she’s damn straight going to find out. She waits and watches the HMS Pogue as it docks a little bit away, deciding how to best confront him about it. Pope was probably the easiest to talk to when it came to emotional matters, (with John B a close second, and JJ in last place) so as long as she approaches the topic tentatively, she should be fine.

As soon as Pope ties off the boat, stepping onto the dock, Kiara waltzes up to him.

“Hey, Pope,” Kiara starts, smiling smoothly, genuinely, only to have Pope walk straight past her without a single glance.

Kiara blinks. 

“Pope!” Still nothing.

Kiara ignores her shock and follows him, feet slamming the ground with a little too much force, but Pope simply speeds up, mutters something about how he had to use the bathroom, and darts out of sight.

Kiara blinks again. She frowns, and confusion claws at her skin. She stares at the door which Pope just vanished through, white and solid, its paint peeling away at the corners to reveal a dirty black.

Behind it, Pope was doing… something, and Kiara’s prepared to bet her entire savings he isn’t using the restroom, or any hygienic action of the sort. The word _hiding_ pops into her mind. Pope was hiding something from her.

Slowly, she spins on her heel. The sky’s dotted with clouds above her head, the sun slipping closer and closer to the horizon. JJ’s still on the boat, stretching his arms up and over, his shirt pulling tight against the planes of his stomach. When he hops off the boat, his sneakers let out a large smack as they collide with the dock. He doesn’t look upset about Pope’s uncharacteristic behavior, expression set in a way that’s more thoughtful than anything else. 

“JJ,” Kiara asks, walking up to him. “What’s wrong with Pope?”

JJ’s eyes flash briefly towards the bathroom door Pope just vanished through, and settle back on Kiara’s own. He snorts. 

“That’s like asking, _why are people alive?_ The answer could be literally anything, and people are too confused to figure it out. Who knows what’s going on in that head.” Then, as if in afterthought, JJ adds, “I wouldn’t worry about Pope. He’s fine.”

“His face is bruised.” Kiara states accusingly.

“Really?” JJ raises an eyebrow, and this time his expression is clearly surprise. “I didn’t notice. He probably slipped and fell.” 

He grins and walks off, leaving Kiara standing in befuddlement. She follows the arch of JJ’s spine as he walks away, his footsteps tracking in the dust, and frowns.

Kiara isn’t stupid. 

She recognizes bruises when she sees them, and she hardly believes Pope slipped and fell while delivering a bag of bananas to old, white ladies swimming in their heated pools. Pope was definitely hiding something.

Kiara waits outside the bathroom door some more, and when it becomes clear Pope wasn’t going to come out, she starts talking to him, hoping to pry some sort of confession as to what’s going on. The effect is somewhat ruined since Kiara can’t actually _see_ if he’s listening, and after fifteen minutes of standing there with no results, gives up. She briefly entertains the notion of following Pope home, but then decides that might border a little too much on the stalker side. An hour later, Kiara goes to question the only other witness who left the scene of the crime, the only other expert liar Kiara knows.

JJ is where he usually is: flopped in a hammock behind the Château, smoking a blunt. She watches the smoke sail through the air and melt into the atmosphere, feeling an inkling of hope inside her chest. Perhaps it would be easier to extract information from a drugged JJ than a sober one.

For all the good it brings, the smoke worries her, too. JJ smokes when he’s stressed, when he _feels_ something, and at this moment, as Pope would put it, JJ’s obviously not in the mood to ‘keep the signal clear’. Whatever happened to Pope at Figure Eight, JJ knows about it, and clearly, he’s trying to block it out.

Suspicions confirmed, Kiara marches over to JJ in quick, assured steps, and stops five feet away.

“What happened to Pope at Figure Eight?” No need to dance around the issue.

“What are you talking about, Kie?” JJ asks, surprise glimmering in his expression. “Nothing happened with Pope. He delivered his groceries, and I delivered mine. We both met up at the HMS Pogue hours after.” 

The weed, Kiara reflects a little unfortunately, didn’t make JJ easier to read. In fact, it only complicated matters. With his lazy, too wide eyes and the traces of smoke paling the air, JJ’s face was the perfect image of bewilderment. If she didn’t know JJ so well, if she hadn’t spent _hours_ planning charity work with him, _days_ working by his side, _years_ as his best friend, Kiara would believe him.

She doesn’t. 

“You’re lying.” Kiara states. Lying to _her_ , she thinks, but doesn’t say. It hurts more than she thought it would.

Maybe the weed makes his disguise falter, or he just doesn’t feel like keeping his cover at this hour of the day, but whatever the reason, JJ’s confusion vanishes like the smoke he blows into the air. A second later his expression is composed and blank, all vestiges of bewilderment erased, as if it was never there in the first place.

It’s practically a confession.

Kiara swallows. It’s highly unusual to discover JJ in a lie, but the triumph she feels at catching him red-handed is momentary, and explodes in a shower of sparks. “JJ, look, I _know_ you know what happened to Pope. Can you please tell me? I just. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Instead of a response, JJ turns away from her, head tilting back to watch the clouds canvassing the darkening sky, and it takes a second for her to realize that JJ’s now decided to ignore her. Just like Pope did. Annoyance rises in her chest, thick, and cloaking.

“JJ,” Kiara tries again. She walks up to him, close enough that she could reach out and brush the hammock with her hand. He smells of smoke, of sweat, and he _still_ won’t look at her, eyes fixed on some distant point in the sky, perhaps a peculiar spot of clouds or a commercial helicopter. “JJ, something happened to Pope. You know it.”

Still no answer.

Fine, Kiara thinks, pressing her teeth down against the tip of her tongue to quell the anger in her chest. JJ wanted to ignore her? Wanted to pretend this whole situation didn’t exist? Well. She wasn’t backing down this easily.

Kiara reaches out to fluff the back of her hair with her hand. She leans forward, slightly, tipping her waist closer to JJ’s hammock, till the sea-foam fabric almost brushes against her skin.

“C’mon,” she says silkily, smoothly, _persuasively_ , “You can tell me.” It’s the same voice she used when talking to Bobby earlier that day, the same voice she uses to get something she wants, her Kook voice, and Kiara instantly feels weird using it against him. She doesn’t want to trick JJ and she doesn’t want to _fake_ herself around him, but he’s, he’s…. 

He’s lying to her. And it burns and twists, and Kiara feels vindictive.

Slowly, JJ turns to her. His eyes don’t meet hers, instead, trace along the hammock’s edge, casually, then follow up Kiara’s waist, to her shirt, her chest.

Kiara’s cheeks turn pink.

“ _Please_ , JJ.” She says.

JJ’s expression shutters. 

_Fuck._

Kiara knows that look. Eyes dark, chin jutted out at an angle so sharp she might cut herself on it. It’s JJ in full lockdown mode, a JJ who won’t spill whatever secret he’s latched onto, no matter what anyone says. His face is _blank._ Whatever emotion, whatever thing JJ is trying so hard to block out is buried deep, and there’s no way she can find it within him.

Kiara’s seen this version of JJ before, but usually it’s her secret he’s protecting, her emotion he's holding back. She’s never been on the receiving end of this lockdown before, and his closure, closure _against_ her, is so painful she almost gasps.

“So, that’s it?” Kiara asks, hands on her hips as she lets out an exasperated huff. The stab in her gut is sharp, painful. “What about _no secrets amongst Pogues?_ Or, _Pogues don’t lie to other Pogues_?” She’s yelling now, and feels no desire to lower her voice, or the emotion rolling through it. Kiara’s not sure she could even if she wanted to. “We’re supposed to follow the Rules, no matter what.”

JJ snorts, which whistles smoke though his nose into the air. “You’re one to talk.”

Kiara freezes. “What?”

“Nothing.” JJ snaps, but he stares at her a beat too long, something cold and hard in his eyes Kiara can’t quite place. JJ is angry, she realizes. Shuttered and annoyed and really pissed off.

 _He knows_. Kiara thinks, suddenly. A cold fist grabs her heart, and squeezes it. He knows she kissed John B.

The revelation is so random, so sudden, Kiara only blinks as JJ gets to his feet and pushes past her. His shoulder collides forcefully with her own, and her body _tingles_. Warmth shoots straight down to her fingers, and Kiara spins around, mutely, just in time to see JJ blow more smoke into the air.

Fuck. Kiara thinks, and then mutters the curse under her breath. Her good mood was ruined, reduced to so many strips and pieces that Kiara can barely remember how she previously felt. JJ was in lockdown mode, and the asshole was angry at her. Pope was hurt and refusing to admit it, and Kiara knows _something_ happened at Figure Eight, though now it’s hard to believe that’s what she came over here to question JJ about in the first place. Kiara has to, she has to… 

Priorities, Kiara tells herself weakly, but,

Kiara had to question John B about their kiss.

Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When JJ promised Pope to not tell Kiara about the whole Topper-bashing-his-face-in thing, I couldn’t picture a scenario where that didn’t cause problems. Obviously Kiara would care about Pope’s well-being, and since JJ is 1/4th defensive asshole he’d lie to Kiara on instinct. 
> 
> Also! Jiara July Jubilee is here! I’ll be posting something for Day 3: AU Day, so subscribe, start your engines, and get ready to read some vampire!JJ very soon. I’ll post a notification when it’s up on tumblr, because I know my negative three followers care so much.
> 
> Again, much love for my readers! Leave a comment on your way out.


	15. (1x3) revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you remember when you kissed me? Did you tell JJ?”_
> 
> OR: Kiara questions John B.

She finds John B by the docks thirty minutes later. 

Kiara is still angry from her argument with JJ, apprehensive and annoyed and really pissed off, but manages to compose her expression into a passable depiction of happy, normal Kie. It works better than she thought it would, for John B doesn’t question her.

Instead, he tells her some more theories about the Royal Merchant, while Kiara nods along with mute interest, internally storming. Kiara slyly twists the conversation from what lies on the ocean floor to the waves which crash above it, and coaxes John B for a casual, relaxed surfing session before asking him what she wants to know. 

It’s manipulative, and Kiara knows it. Because John B has always been more open on the water, more comfortable. She thinks, then, that it’s something JJ would do, so Kiara tells herself to stop feeling guilty.

There’s no sly way to bring up their kiss, however, so Kiara stops the act, and moves forward with all the bluntness of a hammer.

_“Do you remember when you kissed me?”_

_“Did you tell JJ?”_

She thinks she knows what John B will say before he even answers it, but still her stomach twists when John B admits, yes, he told JJ about their kiss. A small part of her had, naively, hoped the particular topic of Kiara Kissed John B And Vice Versa wouldn’t crop up, but that idea swirls down the drain in a matter of seconds, leaving pain in its wake.

JJ and John B have been friends for years, as Pogues they tell each other everything (though apparently not today, Kiara thinks bitterly). It would make sense that JJ knew about their low-key make-out session. He probably knew hours after it occurred.

It makes her blood boil. Kiara’s not sure if it’s the residual anger still twisting around inside her, but suddenly feels hot despite the temperature of the waves, the ocean rushes around her so fast it almost makes her dizzy. She almost wants to throw something. Facts, Kiara reminds herself. Think facts.

Fact: Kiara kissed John B.

Fact: JJ knows about it.

Fact: This made Kiara feel…. awful.

She wants John B to recite exactly what he told him, word-for-word. She wants to know JJ’s reaction, every sentence he uttered, every expression that flashed over his face. She grits her teeth together, hard. Questioning John B would only make him more suspicions, though suspicious of what, exactly, Kiara doesn’t know. 

The storm of emotions - anger, rage, fire - burns inside, even deep breaths won’t calm it, and Kiara swirls.

It’s almost enough to make her wish she never kissed John B in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I loathe this but it’s time to stop staring at it and get it up here.


	16. (1x3) almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (set ten minutes before) _”Even JJ believes.”_
> 
> OR: JJ and Kiara talk it out.

JJ ends up walking aimlessly around the Cut, and only after he’s passed the same house three times does he realize he’s going nowhere - literally and metaphorically.

He’s still angry. He’s angry at Kiara for pressuring him to spill Pope’s secret, and angry at Pope for making him keep said secret in the first place. 

Which is weird, because JJ lies. It’s as simple as breathing, and as essential, too. He lies every hour of every day because it’s simply what he does, what he has to do, and with a start JJ realizes what the problem is.

He doesn’t want to lie to Kiara.

Fuck.

Eventually, JJ determines there’s really no point to wandering around the Cut any longer. Besides, this half of the island grows dangerous for any person just walking around with no set destination nearby, especially since it was nearing nightfall. 

JJ has nowhere to go, however - or rather, nowhere he wants to go - so he finds himself returning to the scene of the crime, staring at the four hammocks outside the Château. They lie limp, pale green forms swinging like leaves in the wind. The sun has almost set, painting the sky in shards of orange and red, a miasma of pink clouds settling on the horizon.

He might have paid more attention to the view, maybe even enjoyed it, if his thoughts weren’t swirling up a storm inside his head. Annoying, riotous, loud. 

The sticks crackle behind him, and when JJ whirls around, he unclenches his hands.

Kiara’s wearing the same outfit he saw her in, shorts and that distracting crop-top, hair pulled into a messy top bun on her head. She’s standing five feet away, and JJ can make out the expression on her face, sad, mixed with silent askance, as if Kiara’s asking permission before coming any closer.

It’s thoughtful, and kind, and totally Kiara. The wave of anger swelling in JJ’s chest softens instantly, and he answers her nonverbal question by taking a step closer to her.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Kiara says, her voice loud despite the quiet around them, and JJ just blinks at her. “You clearly have a reason for not telling me what happened between you and Pope, and I accept that.”

JJ’s mouth parts, slightly, in shock, though he looks away before Kiara can see it. He pokes at a patch of stones with the edge of his shoe, scuffing dust into the air. When he looks up a second later, he finds he can’t stay mad at Kiara even if he wanted to, her apology settling inside his gut with ease. He’s surprised, vaguely, by how quickly he forgives her. How quickly he _wants_ to forgive her.

Kiara’s expression remains open, hands at her sides, palms up, so he can see the shadows stretch across her smooth fingers.

“I’m sorry, too.” JJ blurts out. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like that.” He swallows roughly at his own omission.

Kiara blinks, and, slowly, the corners of her lips pull into a smile. “We’re good?” She asks him.

JJ shoots her a grin in response. “Yeah. We’re good.”

Their conversation reaches its natural end, and the silence that follows is comfortable; JJ doesn’t have a desperate need to fill it. The pressure in his head has melted away entirely, and his sudden lack of anger makes him feel refreshed and satisfied, like a dam that’s been blocking all the water and is suddenly torn down. Kiara must sense it, or feel the same way, for she stops her cautions movements around him, and walks over to JJ’s side.

There’s no reason for either one of them to leave, and JJ doesn’t want to. They both agreed to have a meeting by the docks with Pope and John B anyway, so JJ simply lets his mind drift.

Testing the drone had been a big success, and Pope had explained that all parts were in working order. The four of them had decided to send the drone down tomorrow. John B was very pleased at the entire situation, but JJ didn’t share his optimism. 

The chances that there was actually gold sitting at the bottom of the ocean floor were slim, all gift-wrapped and waiting for them. Especially given the thousands of people looking for said gold. For all they knew, JJ had helped steal highly expensive equipment for a hunk of treasure that wasn’t even there. Not that he had a problem with that.

“I got Heyward to donate some more wood.” Kiara says conversationally, breaking JJ from his thoughts.

“Cool,” JJ responds, a little absentmindedly, and then, “Wait, donate _more_ wood?”

“Yeah,” Kiara grins. “Project WoodWork’s almost out of wood. We need more donations because it’s a huge hit.” She’s looking at him brightly, and JJ can’t help but smile. Something sparks inside his chest, and he wonders, distantly, if this is that feeling all those do-gooders get, a sort of internal pleasure from helping people other than themselves. JJ’s never really felt it before, but Kiara’s smiling like _that_ at _him,_ and the spike in his chest burns a thousand times brighter than anything he’s felt all day.

Altruism, JJ thinks, is weird.

“If we get the Royal Merchant gold, we can pay for people’s repairs.” Kiara adds. “That’s what I’d do with the rest of it, at least. Donate it. Maybe buy someone a house.”

“If we get the money, I’m buying _twelve_ houses.” JJ announces, and he sees Kiara frown at his sarcastic tone. 

“You really don’t believe we’ll find it?”

“Honestly?” JJ says, glancing at the distant water, “No.” For some reason, the lightness in his voice comes out more forced than he expects.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” JJ admits. “I find it hard to believe in something so,” he pauses, searching for the word. When he finds it, it tastes bitter on his tongue. “Unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” Kiara repeats. “But doesn’t some part of you think we can do it?”

JJ scoffs. She’s so naive. “Sure. A small, nonexistent part.”

“Everyone else has a shot at finding it. Why not us?”

“Because Kie.” JJ snaps, annoyed now. “Yes, it’s nice to think that everything will work out, that we’ll find the money, and life will go on with angels and gold and rainbows. But that’s not the way _my_ life works.” He pauses, not sure when he started breathing this hard.

“It’s like Pope said,” JJ adds, forcing his breaths to slow down, “Fantasy, or reality.”

Beside him, he hears Kaira freeze. There’s not even the squeak of her flip-flops against the ground. 

“It’s reality.” Kiara says, finally, softly, so soft that JJ almost doesn’t catch it. He spins around, finds her expression sad, almost, mixed with longing. “Right?”

JJ stares at her. He thinks, vaguely, that this conversation isn’t about gold anymore, that somewhere along the line it spread into uncharted territory, something JJ doesn’t like to think about. The gold was probably a metaphor. 

Kiara takes a step closer, and this time her flip-flops do squeak, a tired, lonely sound that kicks some dust into the air. She’s wringing her wristbands in one hand, around and around and around.

“Do you think you _can_ believe?” She asks.

JJ swallows. They’re so close now, so close, JJ can feel her warmth radiating from her arms, her skin, wafting through the air to surround them both, thick like some sort of floral perfume. Kiara’s staring at him, lips full, pink, something spreading to her cheeks that burns and looks like a blush, and then her lips part into an o and JJ wants, JJ wants

“Hey!”

At the sudden voice, JJ jumps, and Kiara jumps with him. Both look up to see John B heading over, followed by a shape in the back which looks more and more like Pope as it comes closer. JJ and Kiara stand still, frozen, their fingertips an inch apart, and then JJ carefully shifts away, well aware that Kiara’s gaze is burning a whole in his side.

John B has the FedEx envelope tucked under his arm, smiling, delighted, unaware of the moment he just ruptured, or the jagged feeling in JJ’s chest. He gives JJ a salute, then glances from him to Kiara. “What are you guys up to?”

There’s a millisecond of hesitation, unnoticed by John B, and JJ spots Kiara inclining her head, just a little. JJ plasters a grin onto his face.

“Just watching the waves, man.” JJ says, all causal, as if his heart isn’t still pounding in his chest. “You brought the food?”

John B shakes his head in affirmative, throwing a hand over his shoulder. “Pope has it.”

“Sweet,” JJ says, rubbing his hands together.

It’s surprisingly easy to transition into his usual self, as if his _moment_ (is that what it was?) with Kiara never occurred. Given that his body’s temperature is still sky high and he keeps picturing Kiara’s lips, it’s one of JJ’s more impressive lies. Distinctly, he feels Kiara watching him, but JJ ignores that, too.

“My man.” JJ says, clapping his hands together when Pope approaches. Pope’s wearing a baseball cap that looks more black than its original shade of navy, and his arms are filled with bags of groceries. JJ spots a banana poking out from one of the bags, along with a set of tin containers that’s definitely a six pack of Coors light. “Have I ever told you-”

“You’re not getting a beer, JJ.”

JJ groans, throwing his hands into the air. “Oh, why not?”

“Because,” Pope starts, “You gotta keep the signal clear.”

JJ glances at Kiara, just once, and there’s a trace of disappointment in her gaze before her expression flips, and she breaks into flawless, artful laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn is slow. So yeah, to summarize: JJ and Kiara almost kiss. And then John B, suave Moment Killer that he is, interrupts it.
> 
> Also I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that this story will never be as good as I want it to be. I wrote it months ago, and I feel I’ve improved quite a bit as a writer since then. Right now I _could_ rewrite this whole thing, and honestly one day I might, but I’m just going to accept that I had a certain skill level when I wrote this, and refrain from furiously editing day and night.


	17. (1x4) fast times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I saved your ass.”_
> 
> OR: Kiara, JJ, and Pope need rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving steadily into 1x4. This episode only has one chapters, with a few in between 1x4 and 1x5.

The drive-in is totalled, but Kiara doesn’t stick around to see the giant-plasma screen burn. Instead, the trio rushes off the lawn as briskly as they can; Pope pressed into Kiara’s side and limping, JJ right beside them, his foot-falls soft and firm as he walks through the grass.

Kiara’s heart is still pounding in her chest like a million drums and her side stings, lightly, from where Rafe picked her up; Kiara wonders if there will be bruises. The adrenaline she felt moments ago is wearing off, Kiara can practically feel it dissolving into the air, and it takes part of her bravado with it, replaced with anxiety which filters through her in small spouts. They walk in complete silence, broken only by the sound of their own breaths and the swell of sirens in the distance.

The air is tense, and painful. It’s dark enough that they’re mostly camouflaged by the trees around them, but light enough that Kiara can make out the road beneath her feet. JJ keeps glancing over his shoulder as if expecting an armed convoy to appear, which makes Kiara jumpy and triples her anxiety, even though he’s making sure no other Kooks ambush them once more. Kiara’s not sure what they’ll do if that does suddenly happen, and she’d rather not think about the bloodbath that would ensue.

The third time the sirens wail, Pope tenses against her side.

“I cannot go home like this,” Pope tells her urgently, his breath loud and too hot in her ear.

“I know,” Kiara replies. They’re all hurt, and while Kiara is upset she hasn’t had time to inspect JJ up close, she knows Pope is beat pretty bad. The lower part of his neck is purple, puffed up and presumably tender. If they don’t do something fast, the swelling won’t stop.

“We’re going to the Château.” She announces, because that’s where it’s safe. There will be food, and water, and medical supplies, and John B. John B will be able to help them, Kiara’s sure of it.

-

John B is missing. 

He’s not outside the chicken coop or lounging comfortably in one of his many hammocks. The windows to the Château are uncharacteristically dark, most blinds drawn, and those open reveal no hints that there’s someone inside. Despite this, JJ marches up to the nearest window, the one shedding view into the living room, and presses his hands against the smudged glass.

Kiara stands besides Pope on the front porch, trying to ignore how hard he’s pressed against her. He’s clearly in pain, and Kiara thinks Topper might have clipped him in the leg, so she sinks to her knees, slowly, supporting Pope as he half-sits half-slides against the steps.

JJ must sense Pope needs the rest, for he doesn’t say a word to either of them when they sit down. Instead, he waves his finger in a circle, symbolizing that he’d go look around the back.

Kiara waits in tense silence, her eyes fixed on the spot JJ just vanished from. The edge of the Château is a deep brown color, panels of wood which form the wall rough, and a field of leaves, rocks, and dust ravage the ground, per usual. Kiara counts the seconds that ticks by loosely in her head, and she sags in relief once JJ re-appears around the corner, jogging briskly towards her.

After making sure Pope won’t collapse if she leaves his side, Kiara rises to her feet, and meets JJ halfway.

She sees he’s got a split lip, but that’s all Kiara can make out in the darkness. Kiara is, suddenly, filled with an urge to search every inch of his skin, to make certain JJ’s not bleeding, because he just fought two guys and he must be in pain, he must be, and Kiara curses the Cut for not installing damn lights, as if the right to see is something only Kooks can afford. She huffs her frustration. They had to get inside. Inside, there was light.

“Where’s John B?” Kiara asks, urgently.

JJ’s lips are a thin, tight line when he admits, “He’s not here.”

Kiara’s heart plummets. “What do you mean _he’s not here_?”

“I mean,” he states, gesticulating, “John B is not here. He’s in a different location. _Not here_.”

“Fuck.” Kiara snaps. The one time they needed John B, and where was he? Where?

“Well, can you get inside?” She probes. “Isn’t there a spare key John B left behind, or something?”

JJ frowns, and Kiara swallows, her eyes raking JJ’s own. She wishes she could see the bruises on his face, if any, and not knowing if JJ’s injured is incredibly distracting. “JJ, we need to get inside.”

JJ’s exhale is forced. “Alright,” he says, and swiftly turns around, walking towards the door. Kiara follows him closely, and watches as JJ snags a rock from the dusty ground, tossing it carefully in one hand, testing its weight. He shifts, and, just as he’s poised to smash it against the door handle, Kiara takes a step back. While she’d prefer to stick to JJ’s side, they can’t afford another injury right now, and getting scratched with a metal shard would only add to the list of their current problems.

There’s a loud, grating crash, and a moment later the door handle falls to the floor. JJ darts inside while Kiara rushes to help Pope to his feet. 

By the time she makes it inside, JJ’s turned on the lights, and Kiara squints momentarily as her retinas adjust to the sudden brightness.

Kiara leads Pope towards the couch, which he collapses onto instantly. The fabric sags against his weight, and Kiara is relieved to see that Pope is able enough to prop himself up on some pillows. JJ’s in the kitchen, fiddling with something in the freezer.

When he turns around, Kiara simultaneously wants to cry out, and gasp.

JJ’s got a busted lip, bleeding lightly. There’s a large bruise forming around his chin, and below that scratches on his neck, pulsing blood, slowly. Kiara swallows, but her throat is suddenly, horribly dry. She can’t think straight, not really, and all her thoughts are muddled, because JJ’s hurt, and Kiara’s ribs suddenly throb, painful, sharp, and-

JJ presses an icepack into Kiara’s hand.

“That’s for Pope,” he elaborates after Kiara just stares at it. “He can put it on his neck, it’ll stop the swelling.”

Kiara blinks. The ice pack is cold in her hand, hard, and so incredibly unimportant right now. “What about you?” She asks, stupidly.

JJ rolls his eyes, as if Kiara was being ridiculous for posing such a question in the first place.

“Just give that to Pope,” he tells her, and as Kiara opens her mouth to respond, JJ prods her lightly in the shoulder.

Kiara nods, the wheels in her brain kick-starting. The ice is melting in her hand, speckling the floor in little dots of water, and Kiara focuses on that as she heads into the living room.

Pope looks up as she approaches. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, and the bruises on his neck hurt to look at.

“Here,” Kiara tells him, parroting JJ’s world. “Put this on your neck, it’ll help the swelling.”

“Thanks, Kiara.” Poor mutters, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile in response.

She hovers near Pope’s side for ten more minutes, watching, waiting, till he sags into the couch in slumber. Kiara gingerly picks up the ice pack, which had fallen to the floor as Pope went prone, and decides to leave him there undisturbed. His bruises already have stopped their unnatural swell, and she’s certain he’ll feel better by morning. Sleep helps everyone, and Pope is no exception.

When Kiara goes back into the kitchen, JJ is nowhere to be found. She frowns. The ice pack was, by now, a sloshing ziplocked bag of water, yet Kiara carefully presses it against her side. Goosebumps erupt across her abdomen, so cold in comparison to the air, and Kiara gasps in response. But the cold relieves a majority of the pain, so she keeps it there as long as she can before the temperature becomes unbearable. A quick check under her shirt confirms what Kiara suspected, her sides are bruised a light purple.

She finds JJ standing outside. The cold air flutters at her hand, still freezing from handling the ice pack, so Kiara presses it into her shorts, warming her palm against the fabric.

JJ doesn’t say anything when she approaches, though she sees him drop his cigarette to the floor. It glows softly against the wooden porch, and a second later JJ crushes the embers into ash with the heel of his shoe.

Kiara’s relieved to see he’s got an icepack pressed against his face, and when she traces her eyes down his silhouette, she sees a bandage plastered over the scratches maring his neck. JJ cleaned himself up, but it twists her stomach painfully that he did so on his own, without anyone helping him.

Kiara sighs, suddenly exhausted.

“Pope’s asleep.” She tells JJ, and when his eyes latch onto her own, she elaborates, “I gave him the ice pack. It stopped the swelling.” 

She pauses, and then asks the question that’s been lurking in the back of her mind this entire night. “Does this have to do with whatever happened with Pope at Figure Eight?”

“Yeah,” JJ admits, and Kiara notes an inch of reluctance in his tone.

Kiara sighs heavily into the air, rubbing a hand against her temples. “Jesus.”

She wants to ask more, what Pope did, why a bunch of Kooks felt justified to jump them both under the cover of darkness. She wants to know what JJ did, if JJ did anything to begin with, that is. But Kiara knows that JJ’s still in lockdown mode, probably now more than ever. She doesn’t want to start an argument right now, because neither of them have the energy for it, and fighting won’t do them any good. They, like Pope, need rest. Besides, she doesn’t want to be angry at him, she just wants… him.

So instead of prodding further, Kiara steps closer, her shoes creaking against the wooden porch.

In this lighting, JJ’s wounds are almost nonexistent, but she knows they’re there. His features are darker, shadows playing across his eyes, his cheeks, his lips.

He’s so close, and Kiara’s suddenly extremely aware that this is the first time they’ve been alone since their almost-kiss, that’s what it was, right? She wonders if JJ knows it, and then he steps even closer, till they’re a foot apart. He smells like wood, and spice, and something sweet, and Kiara

Kiara forgets how to breathe, forgets how to speak, because she’s never been this close to him before, and there’s a fire burning under her skin, slowly, greedily, and it makes her squirm, _arousingly_ -

JJ swallows. His lips part, and she knows her’s do, and vaguely she’s glad she wore pink lipstick today,

-she wants, she wants, she wants-

Their lips meet.

Kiara explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing in her gut has a name!
> 
> I always found it amusing that for all the loyalty John B has to the Pogues, he was still off flirting with Sarah when JJ, Kiara, and Pope needed his help. John B loses points in the friend department with this one, though I have my own reasons why he’s a shitty friend.


	18. (1x4/1x5) falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”For once in my goddamn life, I’m telling the truth.”_
> 
> OR: JJ gets arrested. Kiara freaks out.

Kiara can’t think.

JJ is arrested and John B is _still_ nowhere to be found. 

JJ is arrested and Pope’s just standing there, looking like someone sucker-punched him in the gut, with wide eyes and a slack mouth. Kiara feels like someone sucker-punched _her_ in the gut, and all she can do is blink, blink and stand there and _do nothing_ as JJ’s walked into the police car, and locked inside.

Her skin feels hot. JJ’s staring at her though the window, and Kiara finds her gaze locked on his own, a frantic part of her memorizing every detail; JJ’s hair is bright against the car seat, the color of sand, his bottom lip is cut and he’s wearing white, his eyes are dark and swirling, and she wants him by her side, she doesn’t understand, 

The engine starts, a harsh grinding noise, and a plume of thick smoke whistles from the exhaust pipe. 

The car starts to move.

As she stands there the sounds of Pope and Heyward arguing are very distant in her ear, as if they’re yelling from the back end of a tunnel. It occurs to her that something about this entire situation is definitely wrong.

While Kiara doesn’t doubt that JJ would do something reckless - sinking a boat out of anger is definitely Textbook JJ - he definitely wouldn’t get caught.

Kiara hears herself hum, and vaguely registers the sound of Heyward’s footsteps as he recedes somewhere behind the shop. The police car carrying JJ rounds the corner and then vanishes from sight. 

Kiara exhales, and when it hits her, she wants to smack herself in the face. _Of course,_ she thinks, and her body builds slowly with anger, gaining mass like a giant ball of dust, because this all connects back to JJ’s secret, which is actually Pope’s secret, and now, well, now JJ’s _gone_. Her breath comes out rough, jagged, and she marches till she’s inches from Pope’s face.

“Tell me everything.” Kiara orders, and Pope does.

By the end of it, Kiara is livid.

She’s pissed at the fucking Kooks for pressing charges for a fucking boat which they definitely had insurance on. She’s pissed at Pope for not keeping his cool, for sinking that boat in the first place, for venting his anger in a childish, moronic way. Pope should have, should have _talked_ to them, or something, because Pogues protect each other, help each other, no matter what. 

She’s pissed at JJ for taking the fall.

JJ - loyal, fearless, _stupid_ JJ who stands up for his friends, who’d rather break _their_ own friendship than spill Pope’s secret, who’s lips taste sweet against her own, hot, heavy, enticing and dangerous-

“I didn’t tell him to do that.” Pope moans from where he’s sitting against the wall. Heyward never came back from wherever he went off to, so it’s just them, sitting abjunctly in the shop.

Kiara continues pacing. When she realizes she’s picked that habit up from JJ, she grits her teeth, and sits down in the nearest chair, which has a large yellow stain on its arm. 

Across from her, Pope’s sitting in a chair identical to her own, except there’s a wad of paper towels stuffed under the front leg to keep it in balance. He’s got his arms looped around his knees. Although he’s looking in her direction he’s not staring at her, but rather at the wall behind her head, perhaps the empty cardboard boxes stacked vertically against it. 

“I didn’t tell him to do that.” Pope says again.

Kiara blinks at him. “Are you seriously blaming him?” She asks, slowly, because her mind’s still reeling and she’s struggling to put two and two together, and she knows. Pope would never say something like this about a friend.

Pope looks up at her. “No.” He says, then moves, quickly, to sit in the chair to her left. He grips her chair’s arm, his fingers missing the yellow stain by an inch, which Kiara has deduced is mustard. His eyes are still wide, voice urgent when he explains, “But Kie, JJ chose to do that, I didn’t ask him to-”

“JJ _chose_ to get arrested?” Kiara repeats, and she knows she’s only doing it because she’s mad, no, she’s _fucking pissed_ , but JJ’s gone, and Pope is, Pope is,

justifying himself?

“ _You_ sunk that boat.” She snarls, only distantly aware that Pope has leaned back, and away from her as far as his chair will allow. “Not JJ. You. And no, you didn’t ask him to lie to those cops, and yes it was _stupid _, so stupid and reckless and rash, but he did it. And guess what? If the roles were switched, I would have done the same exact thing. Because we’re friends. We’re Pogues.”__

____

____

She pauses, breathing hard, her gaze still screwdriver-fixed on his own. “What’s done is done. At the end of the day, you still get to keep your scholarship, and you still get to sleep in a damn house, not a fucking _jail cell_. Be thankful you’ve even got a home to go back to in the first place.”

She stands up so fast that the chair moves, its legs grinding against the floor with a wince-inducing scrape. When she pushes herself outside, Pope doesn’t follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I guess I’m bashing everyone in this fic. To be fair, Pope is not an asshole, and Kiara is sorta overreacting in this scene, but that’s just because she’s anxious, stressed out, and her best friend was just put in jail. Tensions are high!


	19. (1x4/1x5) don’t rewind it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”For once in my goddamn life, I’m telling the truth.”_
> 
> OR: JJ gets arrested. The jail cell is perfect for musings.

On a distinct, real level, JJ recognizes that he is, in fact, an idiot.

Because he’s been sitting in this damn cell for a little over five hours, the stars in the window nearby have started to blur, and he still can’t bring himself to muster a proper, distinct feeling of regret.

JJ knows, logically, that he shouldn’t have covered for Pope.

He shouldn’t have confessed to something he didn’t do, shoudn’t have lied to fucking cops, and shouldn’t have let them cart his ass to discount-jail based solely on his stupid, rash decision.

A decision that took his shitty, maybe sometimes possibly still-has-potential life, and threw it in a blender. JJ knows what it’s like to have a criminal record, and if he lived anywhere other than the Cut, his future wouldn’t be pretty. At least the Cut hires felons, because everyone around here’s a felon, too, and they understand that shit gets tough, poverty is unavoidable, and give out second chances. So JJ can still get a job here, but as for the rest of America, he’s probably screwed. 

JJ knows all this, he knew it when he lied for Pope, and has been turning these thoughts over in his head in short, discontent loops, and yet, remorse alludes him. Any regret towards his decision that JJ feels is weak, spread thin like barely frozen ice across a lake, crystallizing only to be broken at the slightest mis-step. 

Because he can’t stop picturing Pope’s face, frozen and wide like some sort of black-and-white horror movie right before the Good Guy died. In that moment JJ knew exactly what Pope was thinking, in his mind’s eye watched Pope’s future flush and sputter down the drain-

And _that’s_ why he feels no regret.

JJ is doing this for Pope.

For his friend, and _fuck_ , because if given a second chance, JJ knows he’d probably do it all over again.

It’s a mix of loyalty and kinsmanship and Pogues for life, a collection of ratty, shit-eating feelings JJ would rather not openly discuss, swirling around like waves in a thunderstorm. JJ sighs, and chooses to stop this train of thought right here. He’s not about to get emotional one-square away from juvie.

Instead, JJ sighs. He focuses on the walls, and is nonplussed to find that they are still a flat, dull grey.

He is, once again, bored.

He’s spent the first hour in this cell thinking, the next two dozing off, and ten minutes analyzing the ceiling stains, made from rust and water and some sort of dark substance JJ hopes isn’t blood. Now, his brain’s back to thinking, and it’s annoying because there’s only so long a person can really think before he starts to go nuts.

JJ sighs again. The bed he’s sitting on is a lumpy mattress tossed onto a thin metal frame; JJ’s taken to calling it Squeak-Ass, after the unfortunate, grating noise it makes everytime JJ moves. It’s roughly the height of his knee, and the stuffing in the mattress is concentrated in clumps, making strange divets in the fabric. It’s also cold, and although JJ’s slept on worse, he still finds the whole Squeak-Ass-contraption annoying.

JJ supposes he’s grown spoiled sleeping at John B’s for the last two months. The guy had a couch with actual cushions - plus a blanket provided every single night. It was, honestly, an abrupt change to go from that directly back to ground zero, though now JJ can’t help but feel that Squeak-Ass is, somehow, better than the bed he’s slept in at home.

At home, he had to steal his mattress when his previous one ripped, and that had been years ago. The stolen one was rather comfortable, though a step down from John B’s couch. JJ had plans to sell that stolen mattress for twenty bucks, money which he’ll probably need if he ever wants to get out of this shit-show. He’ll still try to, if his old man hadn’t thrown out his bed by now, that is.

His old man. JJ frowns.

He hasn’t thought about his father in a while, though it’s more accurate to say he’s been _avoiding_ thinking about anything related to Luke for the past two months. It’s been hard, considering the number of bars on the streets.

JJ wonders, then, what his old man will say when he finds out he got arrested.

JJ’s skin freezes. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. _He can’t_. It’s too much, and, and JJ breathes, in and out, deeply, staring at the floor.

It’s stone, perhaps once the slab was solid, but now cracks have seeped into the foundation, edging across every surface of the floor, fractal of small, black space. JJ hadn’t felt an interest to explore this further, but now stares at it, following a large, rickety crack which splits off into smaller ones, the tail end of which curls under the toe of his shoe. It calms him, the imperfect nature of the cracks, but JJ doubts that will last long. How long before he memorizes these indents? Before they stop distracting him, and become another part of his life, routine, ordinary?

He has to get out of here. JJ isn't naive enough to think someone will post bail, but he’s not going to juvie, he’s just not. Sinking a boat, or whatever the fuck they’re charging him with, can’t be the last straw. JJ’s got things to do, a life, projects, some abstract idea of a future barely taking shape-

He’s got Kiara.

For now, he’s got Kiara, Kiara who is kind, and gorgeous and amazing. Whatever happens, Pope’s not going to jail, his entire future’s up ahead, and in this moment, JJ’s got Kiara by his side.

Slowly, JJ smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember this chapter was fun to write!
> 
> Also, I liked the idea that the Cut has this community of sorts that’s unified through poverty - so everyone’s either a criminal or a felon or down on there luck and that’s just generally accepted. Headcanon went a little nuts there, but I’m sticking with it.


	20. (1x4/1x5) provide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _post: ”For once in my goddamn life, I’m telling the truth.”_
> 
> OR: Kiara plans to help JJ.

“You’ve got to bail him out.” Kiara states, arms crossed over her shoulders, glaring at her father with her mouth set in a straight, thin line.

Kiara had ambushed him the second he got home, and followed him from the doorway into the living room as he shed his coat, frantically explaining the entire situation to him - omitting any parts that could place JJ or Pope into further blame. Now, faced with her father’s unusually heavy sigh, she wonders if he had a fight with mom on the way over, or if he’d faced a tough day selling at The Wreck. Kiara is normally careful about adding extra stress onto either of her parents’ plates, but now she refuses to feel guilty.

JJ needed her help, and Kiara damn sure wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing while he was locked into a cell.

Her father, clearly, doesn’t see the severity of the situation, or doesn’t want to. He walks over to their refrigerator, and pulls out a tupperware of soup, which he sloshes into a pot on the counter.

“Kiara, I’m tired.” Her father says, and Kiara moves swiftly to switch places with him at the counter. She places the soup, clam chowder on the burner, cranks the stove on high. As she stirs, she talks.

“He needs help.” Kiara says. “I know you don’t like my friends, and I don’t care. That’s why they’re _my_ friends, not yours. You always say grandma _hated_ the friends you had growing up, so I don’t understand why can’t you accept them.” The soup has started to bubble. Kiara turns the burner off and dumps a sizable portion into a bowl.

When Kiara turns around, she sees her father has taken a bar seat at the counter, and he looks once at the soup Kiara placed in front of him before taking a bite. When he continues eating Kiara stares at him accusingly, and he drops the spoon into the bowl with a sigh. “I thought this whole arrest was a one time thing. I already bailed your other friend out last week,”

“John B,” Kiara interjects, “but this is different. This is _JJ_ \- he’s my best friend, my.”

She stops. Her what? Her more-than-a-friend? Definitely not her boyfriend, right? She pushes past the thought, now was not the time to stutter over semantics, and continues, “He’s arrested for something he _didn’t do_ , and you _know_ Topper’s only doing this because JJ is from the Southside-”

“Ward’s son is involved in this?” Her father questions, and shakes his head. “You said some rich asshole pressed charges,” he says, and then shakes a hand at the expression on Kiara’s face.

“Kiara,” he says placatingly, “I understand you may not like Topper, but whatever your friend did to him does not involve us. The last thing this family needs right now is a quarrel with Ward-”

“I need JJ.” Kiara blurts, and then freezes at her own admission. She hadn’t meant to say that, didn’t plan to say that, but quick reflection tells her she doesn’t feel regret, only slight embarrassment for her sudden, unprecedented honesty.

Her father pauses, and looks at Kiara carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. The silence that stretches between them is momentary, tense, and then he presses a hand into his temples.

“Kiara,” her father says, and it’s clear he chose to sidestep Kiara’s earlier statement, which she’s incredibly thankful for, “We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning.”

Kiara shakes her head. That’s not good enough. “It’ll be too late then, we have to do something now-”

“Kiara!” Her father yells, bolting to his feet, and the chair slides away from him with an ear-splitting _squeak_ and Kiara falters.

Her father sees the expression on her face and deflates instantly. His shoulders fall, and he presses a palm into his forehead, breathing in and out. There’s a tense silence, and then her father repeats, slowly, softly, very much in control, “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

He stands, leaving the bar stool where it stood without bothering to slide it back into place. Kiara stares at its brown seat, protruding from the floor like some glamorous mushroom. Feeling miserable, Kiara walks around the counter and pushes it back into place. She wonders, for the second time, if her father’s had a rough day at The Wreck. She wonders, for the tenth time, how JJ’s doing, all alone tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can totally picture Kiara’s father as a weary, somewhat exhausted dude who is not in the mood to deal with Kiara’s stupid friends at any time. I included him in this chapter as opposed to Kiara’s mom since I feel he stands in strong contrast to Luke, and this is a good way to show that.


	21. (1x5) reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _[set post JJ’s release.]_ ”
> 
> OR: Kiara sees JJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has a good quote for this chapter please let me know in the comments below! It’s set after JJ is released from faux-jail but before Midsummers.

Kiara doesn’t know what she expects to see that morning, refuses to, because forming an expectation about JJ himself means she has to think about details, and Kiara can’t muster any details she wants to see other than alive. JJ - out of jail and alive, and when Sheriff Peterkin informs her JJ’s been released that’s all Kiara can think about, she needs to see him and it feels like she’s missing a limb, and distantly she realizes she’s never felt this way about a guy before and now-

JJ is alive.

She stops breathless ten feet away, and her legs sting from running and there’s so much gravel in her shoe that Kiara will definitely have bruises there tomorrow-

JJ is alive. 

There’s a motorcycle leaning against a tree, cherry red, its wheels tar-black, mud-stained. There’s a hammock stretched to the left of that, white, deserted, a hammock that probably belongs to someone but that someone isn’t here, no-one is, and near that hammock is JJ.

She knew he’d show up somewhere here, somewhere on the long stretch that leads to the Château, because Kiara knows JJ doesn’t go home, so she started running, straight from the police station to the Château, till the road beneath her feet was no longer road but dirt, dark and loose and scattered with leaves and sticks and trees turned over on their sides.

Kiara swallows and moves, ignoring the cramp in her side and the ache in her legs. JJ still hasn’t seen her, but as she comes closer her shoes snap a thin branch in two with a _crack_ and JJ whirls around with one fist clenched and the other tight around the handle of the bike, so Kiara freezes. 

JJ sees her, and he drops his arms to his side. 

Kiara pauses, or maybe she gasps, - and his face is pink and purple and there’s remnants of red on the side of his neck, unmistakably blood that’s fresh, too fresh, and the only person JJ’s seen since he got out was his father, and Kiara doesn’t want to believe what her eyes are telling her - and runs to him.

She stops an inch away and waits, because the last thing JJ needs is to be touched right now, and he’s still standing all tense, but inclines his head slightly, so Kiara wraps her arms around him in a hug.

It reminds her, acutely, of the last time they touched after they crouched in the chicken coop. JJ’s not crying, but he is holding her as tight as he ever has, so Kiara rubs his back exactly like he did for her, remembering how comforting it felt to have his hand close to her skin, grounding. Clockwise, counterclockwise. In, and out.

JJ swallows, and she can feel him breathing against her shoulder, hard, rough, ragged. His breaths line up, slowly but surely, with the faint sound of her palm rubbing against his back. They stand together till the birds chirp loud and proudly, and it may be a minute or ten but it feels like forever, and then carefully, slowly, JJ pulls back from the hug.

Kiara doesn’t walk away. She slides her arms lower as he steps back, so their hands are joined, connected at each fingertip. His fingers are pale against her own, and his left knuckles are bruised a deep wine color. It reminds her, stupidly, of Topper and Sarah, that day when they ran off the beach together into the night.

-

They end up staying there, Kiara squatting in a patch of moderately dry grass and JJ lying in the hammock, but only because Kiara forced him to take it. She’s sitting with her face to the sun, but luckily JJ’s blocking it. She can see his face, the curve of his body at the bottom of the hammock’s white fabric, and both sneakers, stacked on top of each other as he stretches out his legs.

Kiara’s brain urges her to climb into the hammock with him, and while that option is incredibly appealing, she ultimately decides against it. They haven’t discussed boundaries, or anything related to their kiss, and more importantly, the last thing JJ needed right now was unprecedented skin-to-skin contact, especially given that his last twenty four hours have been so, so, _awful._ Besides, if JJ wanted her there, he’d suggest so.

They converse over everything and nothing, bouncing between Project Woodwork, which JJ takes a usual, whole-hearted interest in, and food, the sun, fishing, surfing, school, local businesses. Kiara describes to him what her past twenty-four hours have been like, and JJ turns away, abruptly, when she tells him how mad she was when her father refused to bail JJ out. 

Kiara doesn’t ask him to tell her anything about his day in return, and JJ doesn’t. The only thing JJ admits is a surprisingly detailed description of how shitty his bed was in the cell, and Kiara almost chokes when he tells her he named the furniture Squeak-Ass. When Kiara senses JJ’s voice growing tight, she ends the conversation naturally, and they move onto something else. It’s enough.

Kiara would have loved to stay and spend the entire day sitting besides JJ, talking to him, watching him talk, but the sun’s rays grow higher, and her phone alerts her it’s three hours till lunch.

“I have to get back home.” She says eventually. “My parents will throw a fit if they find out I snuck over here. They think I’m sleeping late in my room. Plus, my mom’s already high-strung, she wants to spend the whole day getting me ready for Midsummers.”

JJ doesn’t respond, but Kiara sees his face fall, and the hand poking out from the hammock’s side goes limp.

“I don’t want to go.” Kiara adds hurriedly after seeing the expression on JJ’s face. “Midsummers sucks. It’s just an excuse for bourgeoise snobs to flaunt their wealth.” She scrunches up her face for effect, and crosses her arms over her chest in her best _fuck this_ attitude. “I can’t believe my mom’s forcing me to be a part of it.”

Her exaggerated posture must work, for JJ looks instantly mollified, and he manages a sympathetic half-smile. Still, his voice is slightly bitter when he says, “And yet Kooks do it every year.” 

He sits up as much as one is able to in a hammock, which sways underneath him, and looks down at her. “I should go too. Check on John B, see if he’s still MIA.”

Kiara nods. Then, with a swallow, she prays she won't overstep any boundaries as she turns over a thought in her head. “I’d much rather stay here.” She tells the grass near her shoe, and then looks up, “With you.”

JJ’s frozen in the hammock. One hand stiff around the fabric’s edge, face flat. There’s an awful, horribly moment where Kiara thinks she’s said the wrong, because yes, she and JJ have kissed but they haven’t discussed it, them, if there even is a them, and then JJ is sliding out of the hammock and pressing his lips against her own.

This time their kiss is soft and gentle, no longer filled with immediate, burning tension like before, yet warmth still explodes under her skin. Kiara doesn’t feel an urgency to move faster than JJ is comfortable with, but she wants this, him, so she presses back, her lips soft against his own, the taste nice, though slightly coppery. She understands what he’s doing, he’s telling her he wants her, too, and the unexpected affection from JJ’s end is pleasant, and dizzying. When they break away Kiara is breathless, and JJ is beaming at her side.

Kiara swallows. “That was,” she starts, trailing off.

JJ’s smile grows wider. “I’m good.” He says self-approvingly, and Kiara raises her eyebrows as she grins. 

“Yeah.” She admits, because it’s true, and JJ laughs as he gets to his feet. Hearing the sound is reviving.

Kiara reluctantly clambers up as well, brushing dried grass from the bottom of her shorts. JJ turns on the motorcycle, though his gaze lingers on her own, momentarily, before he starts to ride.

When Kiara walks home, her legs feel heavy, each step like lead, and the fluttery, burning feeling in her chest doesn’t leave till she’s at her doorstep.


	22. (1x5) panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Someone help! Please somebody help.”_
> 
> OR: John B falls, and the gang deals with it.

When the paramedics finally arrive, there’s chaos. 

Two men host John B onto a stretcher while a third one barks out orders through a small, hand-held device which routinely emits a loud series of noises that are probably words but sound like a bunch of static. The sirens are blasting so loudly that JJ can’t think straight, Topper keeps repeating the phrase it wasn’t my fault to anyone who will listen, and a group of pedestrians have gathered nearby, edging closer to the ambulance, their eyes wide, primed for gossip. Some girl in a red parka has her phone out in front of her, and there’s a sickening moment where JJ realizes she’s filming.

Sarah is crying. She refuses to leave John B’s side, and only peels away when a fourth paramedic stops yelling into his newly-acquired megaphone and informs her they need to take John B to the emergency room, STAT. Sarah ends up in the back of the paramedics truck, still at John B’s side, and the fourth paramedic starts yelling into the megaphone again, and whatever he says causes the group of onlookers to scatter. Eventually the sirens turn off, but the light that came with it stays on, stripes of blue and red spinning wildly on loop. The trees are a dark, black color under their beams, and the leaves only turn green when lighting crashes overhead in brief, intermediate bursts.

With all the commotion, it’s surprisingly easy for Pope, Kiara and JJ to fade into the background. 

For this, JJ is immensely thankful. The noise is loud too loud and he can’t think, someone must be sitting on his throat or chest because the pressure there won’t disappear and fuck he wants John B to fucking not die. He feels useless because he is useless; all JJ can do is sit and fucking hope John B will be okay.

The ambulance drives off with a wail. When it leaves it takes a majority of the noise with it, and. JJ catches a glimpse of Sarah behind the doors, bent at angle, and it looks like she’s still crying. If JJ didn’t get arrested twenty-four hours ago, he knows he’d be right there in the ambulance longside her. As it stands, JJ was arrested, and as much as he wants to be there for John B, he knows the hospital is directly across the police station, and he’s not about to voluntarily march into the Lion’s Den. Heck, JJ knows this scene itself will be swarming with police in a matter of minutes, so he tells both Kiara and Pope that he’s retreating to Rixon’s Cove to avoid the law enforcement presence.

He is surprised when both Kiara and Pope join him.

They park the van nearby, camouflaged against a patch of decaying leaves. JJ practically runs outside. The air is cool, fresh, and JJ doesn’t like staying still, especially now, when all he can see is John B’s body, prone and dark against the ground. Dark with what, exactly? Blood? Dirt? JJ really, really wishes he had some weed.

He ends up pacing for the next twenty minutes. Pope sits in the van, and Kiara elects to go outside where she re-starts their fire, small, but blooming madly in a matter of minutes. JJ paces, and paces, and paces, and then sits down near Kiara on a log. He drops his hand on the rough, insect-bitten wood, and runs the other through the tangle of his hair.

“Fuck.” JJ says.

“Yeah.” Kiara echoes.

JJ swallows. He taps his finger against the log, one two three one two three on loop, he’s nervous, he’s tired and he’s nervous, and shit because less than two hours ago he had felt so fucking hopeful, the promise of finding the stupid gold, and now this shit with John B, and suddenly, here, in the dark, the past twenty-four hours come crashing down. Hard.

JJ isn’t sure when he starts to shake, but he knows when he stops, a second after Kiara’s hand brushes against his own. Her fingers are soft, gentle, her nails pressed only against his fingertips, and JJ gets what she’s telling him, because he needs a distraction and Kiara’s giving him a way to let his mind drift. 

He almost chokes, then. Because he can handle this potential-panic-attack all by himself, he can distract himself, it’s what he’s been doing for the past sixteen years, but here, now, Kiara’s telling him he doesn’t have to do this alone. 

A moment later, JJ curls his fingers around her own.

Kiara’s skin is warm, and JJ supposes that’s natural given that she’s been sitting by the fire this entire time. Her index finger traces against his thumb, back and forth against his metal rings. She looks tired, sad, lines in her forehead, concerned. JJ breathes. Kiara. Kie. The pressure in his chest loosens, slightly, because Kiara-

She’s got silver earrings that he’s studied in the van, long, thin, made of some sort of silver chain that probably cost more money than all the furniture in JJ’s house. And her dress Jesus, it’s soft and purple and shimmering in the fire, and JJ traces his eyes down, from the neckline that dips past her collarbones and reveals smooth, unblemished skin to the way the fabric hugs her waist, the bottom hem stained brown, now, from where she was crouching in the dust. JJ swallows.

“What?” Kiara asks.

“It’s just.” He says. And stops.

“What?” Kiara prods.

“I dunno. You’re... ” The compliment gets stuck in his throat.

Kiara smiles.

It’s blinding.

And, yes, John B’s hurt, and sick, and JJ’s face still stings and he’s fucking tired, but in this moment it’s just them, sitting by the fire, scooting closer as they kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't my favorites, but it's necessary to see JJ's reaction to John B's fall, it really gives some nice aspects of JJ's loyalty to all his friends, and how Kiara helps him through tough times.
> 
> ALSO: For those of you who want to hear me rant about my mental health/this fic, feel free to see my profile for information about that I won't get too deep into it here, but essentially I'm not satisfied with the way this fic is written and it's causing me an unusual amount of anxiety.


	23. (1x6) - decide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If she’s in, I’m out.”_
> 
> OR: Sarah makes her entrance. Kiara isn’t happy about it.

Kiara supposes that she’s happy for John B.

She’s happy that he’s alive, that her best friend didn’t crack his spine into thirty-three different vertebrates, miraculously avoiding paralysis after a twenty foot drop. She’s happy John B has a home, and a legal guardian (even if it is Ward) that effectively kicked DSC off his trail.

She felt all these things and more the moment John B walked over to them, alive, unhurt aside from a hairline fracture creeping up his wrist, and blissfully, it seemed like everything was going to be alright. They had found water at the bottom of a well and would go over to Mrs. Crain’s creepy, probably cursed mansion later tonight, and the prospect of finding gold was the highest it’s ever been on Kiara’s list of priorities. 

She had felt happy. She had felt happy for John B.

But right now? Kiara couldn’t give two fucks. At all.

He involved Sarah in the Hunt, their Hunt, and his betrayal was blinding. It unlocked Pandora's Box, a mess of feelings Kiara didn’t know she was carrying, and she’s angry. So, so angry, at him.

John B went missing for days, was _no_ help when JJ and Pope got beat up, did absolutely nothing after JJ got arrested, and now he was _macking_ Sarah Cameron. 

Sarah - stupid, ditching, venomous Sara - who uses people, who throws their feelings around as if they mean absolutely nothing, who hurt Kiara deep enough to scar her bones and completely ignored her for years after the fact-

They can’t trust her.

It hurts more that John B lied to her. She knows what he thinks, what Sarah probably told him, that Kiara’s territorial, or, or _jealous_ of whatever John B and Sarah have (which is nothing), and it _hurts_ that John B doesn’t realize otherwise.

It’s not about who’s macking Sarah Cameron. It’s not about who’s macking John B - because that ship sailed, sank, and burned so, so long ago -

It’s about trust. 

John B _lied_ to her. Didn’t apologize. At all.

Forget _No Secrets Among Pogues_. Forget _Pogue Life_. In walks Sarah Cameron and sweeps John B off his feet through obvious manipulation that Kiara can spot a mile away, and now John B’s her _boyfriend_ , completely oblivious to the Rules they had forged so long ago. 

(Kiara is aware, vaguely, that at this point she’s somewhat of a hypocrite. But what she and JJ have is different, it’s genuine, it can’t just be macking because what they have is more…)

It’s only after she’s ten feet away from the Château, sitting on the dock with her legs folded underneath her and a storm inside her head, does Kiara realize she’s crying.

Actual, honest-to-God tears, and when she looks up she sees Pope’s there, his brow furrowed in something close to confusion rather than upset, and everything feels a thousand times worse. 

The sky is a dreary slab of grey, missing clouds which usually pepper it with lighter shades, and Kiara blinks through the moisture in her eyes. Pope stands there and it’s obvious he has no idea what to do, and Kiara really wishes he would walk away and leave her there to sulk. She presented her ultimatum to John B, the rest was up to him.

Eventually Pope sits down, and Kiara dries her tears quickly on the corner of her t-shirt, leaving sloppy stains there. She feels unsettled that he’s seeing her like this, and if her cheeks weren’t already red from the tears, she’s sure they’d grow hot from embarrassment. Kiara turns away, staring mutely at the waves around her, and wishes, stupidly, randomly, ridiculously, that it was JJ sitting by her side.


	24. (1x6) - decided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If she’s in, I’m out.” cont._
> 
> OR: Sarah makes an entrance. JJ and John B argue.

Pope walks outside a second after Kiara does, and JJ feels, instantly, even more disgruntled than he was before, as if Pope was treading over someone else’s territory. Kiara walks at a faster pace than usual, for she disappears moments later behind a web of trees, and JJ has to scoot closer to properly see her. He watches her figure dip, then settle on the far-off edge of the dock, and JJ can’t tell if her legs are criss-crossed or stretched out but he knows her spine is bent and she’s turned away from them, posture that dictates, by all accounts, that Kiara is upset.

He swivels his head from Kiara’s blurry figure to John B, but the latter’s staring at Sarah, or rather, the direction she had departed in. John B looks actually upset, though for whatever reason JJ can’t fathom. 

He’s not sure why an argument with Sarah has gotten John B’s spirits so low, especially since he’s interacted with her for the first time like, only yesterday. Recognizing that emotional conversations will probably elude him for another fifty years, JJ sighs, and musters up some sympathy as he moves to clap a hand on John B’s shoulder. 

“Sorry, man.” JJ says. 

John B turns to look at him, confused. “Sorry for what?”

JJ resists the urge to roll his eyes, and reminds himself that John B’s probably experiencing one of those five phases of grief guidance counselors sometimes talk about - denial, perhaps. He nods to where John B had been staring, and elaborates, “Sorry about Sarah Cameron. Hey, maybe after we find the gold you can pick things up again, I’m sure she’s got nowhere to go all summer, just like us.”

John B’s expression turns even more confused, and then annoyed. He shrugs JJ’s hand off his shoulder, which JJ is more than glad to remove, and twists to look him fully in the face. “What are you talking about?”

JJ raises an eyebrow. Now he’s feeling confused himself, and his patience with this entire conversation is growing thin. “Look, I know you’re slow, brother, but not that slow. I’m talking about Kiara, the whole _it’s Sarah or me_ thing,” He shakes his head, slightly. “Or do you not remember the conversation that happened like three minutes ago?”

When John B continues to stare at him, JJ’s own eyebrows shoot up in low surprise, and understanding. “Wait. Are you telling me you’re picking _Sarah Cameron_ over Kie?”

For a moment JJ thinks he might be in the middle of some practical joke, but John B looks away and off to the side, so JJ frowns. “You’re serious? Look, man, I know Sarah’s rich, and might be an awesome kisser but-”

If he was anyone else, JJ might not have been prepared for what followed, the darkening of John B’s eyes, and the sudden jolt as John B darts forward, one hand raised towards JJ’s neck. As it happens, JJ is, in fact, himself, and has compiled an unfortunate amount of experience being hit, and twists, narrowly avoiding John B’s fist which closes on thin air rather than the fabric of his shirt. 

John B stumbles yet recovers surprisingly quick. He takes a step forward and JJ instantly moves back, the two of them moving like connected pieces of a game.

“I _don’t_ like her because she’s rich, JJ.” John B says, loudly, angrily, and while JJ knows John B would never intentionally hit him, he can’t stop the flinch that comes when John B takes another step. John B must realize this, for he stops, and visibly reins in his anger. Neither comment on the fact that John B just lost his temper, and JJ supposes, as an afterthought, that he should have realized he was straying close to John B’s _don’t fuck with me_ limit in the first place.

A beat passes, and John B takes a step back, and then another. He stops at the porch railing, not leaning against it, but hovering close. In a more composed voice, he says, “I meant what I said before. Sarah is my girlfriend.”

“Well Kie’s my. Best friend. She’s our best friend.” JJ amends, hoping John B won’t notice his less-than-smooth word choice. He hasn’t really had a chance to think over the technicalities of what he and Kiara are, exactly, and he’s not about to go admitting he and Kie kissed, thrice, in this argument. It’s irrelevant, and it’s private. JJ doesn’t want to admit anything without talking to Kiara first, and, to be honest, he’s not ready to admit how he feels about Kiara anyway. Part of him can’t even put that feeling into words.

John B shifts, slightly, adjusting his posture from his heel to his toe in an action that was probably subconsciously made, but JJ has to force himself not to bolt in the opposite direction. His heart rate is still high, and he’s unclenched his fists and John B’s far enough away that JJ will see a punch coming, JJ knows it’ll take a minute for his body to calm down.

John B, oblivious to JJ’s potential-panic, frowns at him. “I’m not doing this without Sarah.” He states, finally.

JJ crosses his arms over his chest, and fixes John B with an equally intimidating frown. His heart beats, loudly. “Well, I’m not doing this without Kie.”

They stare at each other, stiff, uncompromising. JJ thinks of Kia sitting alone by the beach. JJ wonders, suddenly, if John B feels the same way about Sarah that JJ feels about Kie. 

He chews the inside of his gum. If that was true, and John B did _actually_ like Sarah, there was no way in Hell any of them were going to reach an agreement on this issue. JJ, thinking of Kiara, relents. “What’s your plan, again?” He asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed on the show (episode 1x7 or 1x8, if I correctly recall) sometimes John B is unusually aggressive with JJ. Which is fine, but if John B KNOWS JJ is abused and still shoves him around... it's always felt quite strange to me.


	25. (1x6/1x7) - treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“We did it!”_
> 
> OR: They found the gold.

They found the gold. 

There’s screaming. There’s a lot of screaming, and a lot of yelling, though for once JJ doesn’t mind the noise. He’s so fucking happy, and he imagines, briefly, that this is what Kook Christmas must feel like.

No one feels like going home. There’s too much adrenaline in the air, fizzing and bouncing with elation; Kiara and Sarah are laughing as if they’ve been friends for years, and the conversation bounces in the van from speaker to speaker like a game of tag, each person bringing in their own comment, exclamation or demonstration of how the past two hours fared for them. It’s all laughter and cheerful yelps interspersed with passing the bar of gold around and around, to where it ultimately finishes its journey by settling on the dashboard, which JJ likes because it’s very much in reach. Eventually someone points out that John B really needs a shower, a sentiment echoed by JJ himself, because not only does John B look like a homeless person on crack, he’s making the van smell like it was assembled in a sewer.

So the tumultuous party comes to a halt at the Château, with John B tearing from the van and disappearing behind the screen door, presumably to take his much-needed shower. This, confirmed by the mud-stained clothes they find in a heap outside the door which puts Sarah into a full on riot, followed by echoes that John B’s a total animal. Since the laundry machine hasn’t worked for a week, they side-step the clothes, and leave them to stew outside. It’s a problem that desires no attention given the current climate, and can be dealt with later.

JJ marches straight into the kitchen where he opens up the fridge, and although he was secretly hoping for a pizza, the assortment of products that greet him have nothing to do with the Italian dough. There’s spoiled milk and a container of salad whose leaves look about a year away from fresh, and a hunk of some mysterious meat which fizzes when JJ pokes it. Behind him there’s the unmistakable voice of Sarah announcing that she’s hungry, and she’s probably saying what they all feel aloud. Who knew treasuring hunting could work up such an appetite? 

JJ frowns at the collection of junk in John B’s fridge before slamming the door shut. He opens the freezer to investigate further, and skips looking at the cabinets altogether. He’s not about to go rustling through John B’s moldy-ass kitchen shelves to fix a proper fucking meal for five. 

Ultimately when JJ turns around it’s with his arms full of cereal boxes and pints of ice cream of several different flavors and bottles of beer, which he dumps unceremoniously on the table.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your feast,” JJ announces with a sweeping motion of his arm, and while Pope plops onto the couch and frowns, Sarah dives straight for the oreo ice cream, spoon in hand. Kiara, just now entering the room, pauses to take in the scene, and exchanges JJ with a grin.

“Scoot,” she orders, and pushes herself in between Pope and Sarah, the former of which scrambles out of the way to make room. It’s a small couch, so all three end up sorta crammed on there, Kiara pressed into Sarah’s side, while Pope seemed to be making an effort to stay as far away from Kiara as possible. Weird.

JJ does not relish in joining them, since it would undoubtedly result in his body being squished. He drags a flyaway chair over to the table and sets it directly across the couch, flopping down with a loud, gratifying sigh.

“Alright,” JJ says, rubbing his hands together. “What are we having?” He grabs a container of ice cream - vanilla, which is an awesome flavor - and starts to eat.

Pope gives a pint of chocolate ice cream a suspicious look, then picks it up between two fingers, as if trying to keep his contact with the paper container to a minimum. He squints at something on the side, and frowns. “JJ, you do know this thing’s expiration date was twelve days ago?”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Pope.” He says, but there’s no malice behind it. “If you want to root around in John B’s death chamber for fresh food, be my guest.” 

Pope thinks it over, and puts the pint down. Kiara stands up, suddenly, marches over to the kitchen, and JJ watches as she searches through the top most shelf, making an alarming amount of noise while doing so. She returns to sit back down on the couch, and JJ sees she’s got a bowl in hand - a pink one. A moment later she proceeds to dump a copious amount of Cheerios into the bowl, and raises her eyebrows at the dumbfounded expression on Pope’s face.

“What?” She questions, then raises the bowl loftily into the air. “A girl’s got to eat in style.”

JJ snorts, and Pope starts laughing. 

At one point someone cranks on the music, and the party _really_ breaks out. 

JJ opens at least twenty bottles of beer in a single minute and passes them around in doubles, and even Pope has one, then two, and soon they’re all clustered on the couch with the Best Hits blasting through the speakers, Sarah’s tipsy and she’s actually really funny when she’s like that, she and Kiara are both mid-demonstration of the time they saved a herd of turtles from dehydrating or tweaking out whatever turtles do when they’re dying in the middle of the sand.

Things are going _awesome_. And then John B steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“John B!” Sarah _squeals_ , and before JJ has had the chance to register what’s going on Sarah’s lunged off the couch and at John B and they’re _full on macking_ , John B’s hand is sliding along the small of her back and Sarah’s got her arms looped around his neck, and then the speaker chooses that exact moment to break. 

Now it’s dead silent, Sarah turns to look at Kiara and she looks almost sheepish, embarrassed of the whole display despite the fact that John B’s hand is still wrapped firmly around her waist. Pope looks as uncomfortable as JJ feels, stiff-kneed, back straight, Pope’s eyes the only thing swiveling as he looks between the two. JJ stares at Kiara and Kiara stares at Sarah, and the incredibly long, tense moment which follows makes JJ want to yell - it’s incredibly annoying. He doesn’t like tension and this is killing his vibe, the speaker is shit and he wants everyone to start laughing again.

Kiara waves her bottle through the air. “Well, John B, what are you waiting for? She’s not a Pogue, remember? Mack away.”

A smile cracks across John B’s face and then Sarah’s laughing, and Kiara’s laughing, and Pope says, “Fuck it,” snags the open container of ice cream sitting on the couch and starts to shovel it down his throat. 

“Yes!” Kiara yells and JJ joins her, giving Pope a congratulatory pat on the back, and then Sarah’s kissing John B again. Someone turns the music back on, and then a gold bar goes flying through the air and everyone’s laughing again, taking turns yelling what they’re gonna buy, the music’s cranked up and Pope’s dancing, and it feels loud enough for the whole world to hear.

-

The party is still going strong by three thirty, but by four everyone’s pretty much drifted to their separate rooms, with the exception of Pope, who has fallen dead-asleep on the couch with a half-eaten container of Twix ice cream held loosely in his lap. The music is still on, but at some point someone must have knocked into it because now classical music plays quietly from a different channel.

John B and Sarah have disappeared into Big John’s room, and JJ notes they’ve finally shoved the mattress from where it lay on the floor into the room with them. Good for John B, man. He hears them laughing casually behind the door.

That leaves JJ and Kiara.

It takes him a minute of silently poking at doors to determine she’s in John B’s room. JJ’s been in John B’s room about a million times, mostly to smoke weed with the window open or discuss random shit while spinning in the swively chair at John B’s desk. So he doesn’t know why he feels weird, suddenly, cracking open the door to find Kiara standing there.

She’s holding a towel in one hand, though when she sees him she puts it down, and grins. “Hey.”

“Hey,” JJ echoes, and slips inside. He leans against the wall across John B’s bed, while Kiara shifts so that she is directly across from him. “This is some party, huh?”

“Yep.” JJ says, popping the p.

“I still can’t believe we found it.” Kiara says, chuckling to herself.

“I know.” JJ agrees, the sudden feeling of warmth washing over him again. They found the gold.

“You gonna go full Kook?” Kiara asks slyly.

“Girl, Hell yeah.” JJ exclaims. “I can already picture my mansion. I’m going to have it remodeled, maybe paint it some obnoxious color like bright green…” 

“With the koi fish pond?” 

“Yeah! And a keg in every room.” 

“Right.” Kiara chuckles. Then, she yawns.

It occurs to JJ that Kaira was trying to sleep, or something, before he walked in here. It makes sense, and John B’s never had a problem with any of them sleeping in his room before. A quick check tells JJ that Kaira brought her navy backpack here, meaning she was, in fact, going to sleep here tonight.

“I’m tired.” Kiara says, which confirms it. 

JJ’s feeling pretty tired himself, and it’s hard to remember that despite finding the gold, he was one step away from juvie practically a day ago. If there’s a time to get proper sleep, which might be a lost cause at this point given that it’s four am, it’s now. He pushes himself off the wall.

“I’m going to crash too. I’ll set up in the living room.” JJ says, and he doesn’t really expect a response to that, so he’s a little too surprised when Kiara shouts, “No,” and reaches forward to grab a fistful of his t-shirt with her hand. JJ freezes, stares at her hand, her knuckles standing out against the grey, feeling, _feeling_ , and Kiara swallows, and lets the fabric go.

“What I meant was, you can stay here. If you want to.” 

JJ stares at her. He doesn’t know what to say, and he thinks he knows what she’s asking, but. But. He can’t, he. His face still stings from where his dad hit him, Kiara’s asking for contact, contact, sex. The air is suddenly hot and JJ feels his neck grow warm and Kiara’s cheeks are pink, slightly, and her hair spreads messily around her shoulders.

“I like you.” Kiara blurts into the silence, and then pauses, her eyes darting across JJ’s face, definitely scanning his reaction. Whatever she sees must be encouraging, for she continues, “I like you a lot, and whatever we have going, I want to continue it.”

JJ can’t speak, so he nods, mutely.

Kiara pauses. “We can sleep together.” Kiara says, and the shock-frozen-midway-panic he feels rising inside must show on his expression for Kiara’s brow furrows, and she instantly elaborates. “I mean, not _sleep together_ , but we can lie next to each other, if you’re comfortable with that.”

The tightness in his chest softens. JJ smiles, feeling pleasant and warm and incredibly relieved. “Yeah. I’d like that.” He’d really, really like that.

Kiara nods, looking calm and satisfied. “I’ll just go change.” With that, she steps out of the room.

JJ feels surprisingly nervous in her wake. For a moment he simply stands there, eyes fixed on the door Kiara just walked out of, and then shakes himself out of his thoughts.

While he waits for Kiara to return, he changes himself. JJ doesn’t own a pair of pyjamas but he does keep a variety of spare clothes at John B’s since he practically lives here, so he snags a clean t-shirt from the dresser and a pair of probably-stolen shorts. His old clothes he tosses in the second-to-last shelf in John B’s dresser, which has been the designated To Wash shelf for a while now, but since the dryer’s still kaputz it’s been overflowing with clothes for the past month. JJ manages to jam the clothes inside and simultaneously squeeze the drawer shut. He reminds himself to fix the dryer tomorrow, and then, with a jolt, realizes he doesn’t have to. With their gold, he’ll just buy a new one. The thought is heartening.

And JJ still feels nervous. 

He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. 

Physical contact has always been, to put it lightly, problematic. He’s got his excellent father to blame for that. JJ doesn’t like being touched and he doesn’t like touching others, and while he can get away with clapping a hand against someone else’s shirt (John B, or Pope, for instance) skin-to-skin contact is usually an aggravator for panic attacks. 

Kiara is an exception, the only exception, _his_ exception, and so, now, it makes him nervous. 

He likes Kiara. He likes Kiara more than he’s ready to reveal aloud. Kissing Kiara felt nice, more than nice, nice enough that he doesn’t panic when he touches her, and JJ doesn’t know how to admit any of this to her and still sound normal. 

The door creaks open, and JJ spins around. Kiara must have taken a quick shower, for her hair is wet. She’s wearing a t-shirt with some sort of large pink flower on it, and short shorts. She’s holding her old clothes in one hand, which she places on the floor next to her shoes.

JJ swallows. He jumps onto the bed which shifts underneath him, _shit, John B’s mattress was comfortable_ , lies down, and smiles at the ceiling boards.

-

With the lights turned off it’s dark in John B’s room, though the moon can be seen from the window, and pours softly through the glass. A strip of the ceiling is illuminated in a beam that looks white given the surrounding darkness, and when Kiara shifts her gaze around the room she sees John B’s pinned up maps, posters, and other various paintings look like dark, shadowy rectangles.

It’s very calm. Peaceful. She’s lying on the mattress and it’s not particularly cold, so the beige blanket is used, at this moment, only to cover her lower-half, and the blanket’s long enough that a section of it dips onto the ground and still covers both their legs, stopping at Kiara’s waist. JJ lies beside her, a couple inches away, and his elegant fingers graze her knuckles, back and forth, and she shivers, pleasantly, at the contact. 

“I’m not good at this.” JJ admits suddenly, his voice quiet. “Emotional stuff.” He pauses. “I don’t usually like to,” he says, then stops mid-sentence. “It’s difficult to,” then stops again. 

The hand rubbing her knuckles speeds up, and Kira recognizes JJ’s agitation. Something’s bothering him that he can’t properly admit, so she waits a beat, then two, for him to elaborate.

“I’m not good with people. I don’t like having _contact_ with people.” JJ says finally, carefully, and something in his voice makes her chest ache. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“That’s okay.” Kira says honestly, then shifts over so she’s facing him on her side. JJ’s eyes are dark, bright with concern, and his hair falls lazily across his forehead.

“Do you like me?” Kiara asks, though not probingly, and JJ’s eyes burn even brighter as he nods against the pillow. “Good. I like you. That’s all that matters. We can take it slow. This,” she gestures to the way they’re lying, “feels okay, right?”

JJ nods again, the corners of his lips pulling upwards in a smile, and his fingers resume their rubbing across her hand in normal tempo, gently, comfortingly, and it's with the feeling of his skin against her own that she falls asleep.

-

When Kiara wakes up, there’s something warm around her side, and it takes only a second for her to remember where she is, and who she’s with.

JJ’s arm is wrapped around her waist.

JJ’s arm is wrapped around her waist, oddly protective and incredibly warm as sunlight streams from a window behind her head, and Kiara does. Not. Move. She’s facing her back to him, but Kiara can feel his body against her own, and the heel of her foot is tangled in the blanket and the other is pressed against JJ’s leg. She settles back against the pillow, savoring the moment, feeling a pleasant sense of bliss. 

She has JJ. And they found the gold. Life, it seems, couldn’t get better. 

Eventually, either the birds chirp a little too loud or of his own volition, JJ starts to stir. He shifts at her side, and Kiara hears him yawning, and then he must realize the position they’re both lying in for JJ freezes, the arm around her side stiffens, and Kiara waits, carefully, to see what he’ll do. A beat passes, and then he asks,

“Kie?”

His voice is soft, a tad confused, and still wrapped in sleep, and Kiara can’t help but smile. She rotates herself so she’s facing him, and grins. JJ’s hair is a mess, rough and spiky in all directions and for some reason incredibly attractive, and Kiara wants to rub her hand through it, but can’t picture a scenario where the action doesn’t freak JJ out. He hasn’t removed his arm from her waist, not yet, but as the confusion that comes with waking up after a long, deep sleep fades from his expression, she feels his arm pull away.

Kiara tries, and fails, not to feel disappointed.

“Morning,” she says, and sits up. The air is fresh and colder now that she’s poked out of the blankets.

When she finally pulls herself out of bed and into the living room, she finds Sarah and John B have left, and Kiara assumes they’re back at Tannyhill, which makes sense, since John B doesn’t legally live at the Château anymore. The house is currently still in Big John’s name, and last Kiara checked, they could sleep here as long as no one discovered them.

She resolved to make some breakfast, and wake up Pope, who’s still asleep on the couch where she last left him. They had a large, surreptitious day planned, which involved melting down the collected gold, trading it at the Pawn Shop, and reliving JJ of his debt. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write since I got some group dynamic, excited!JJ and excited!Pogues, and, most importantly, Jiara domestic fluff! Can s2 _please_ have some of this??


	26. (1x7/1x8) - pain and painful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I just want to do the right thing.”_
> 
> OR: JJ breaks down. Kiara helps him.

By the time they climb out of the hot tub Kiara’s clothes are soaked, Pope’s shorts cling to his skin in what he explains is an immensely irritating manner, and JJ has, at least, stopped his campaign to drink himself to death in a circle of boiling water.

JJ has the key to the Château, and it takes several attempts to open the door, which is probably due to the fact that the lock has nearly rusted shut than JJ not being completely sober,

Kiara finds a couple dry towels on the shelf which she tosses at Pope and JJ, wrapping one around herself as well. They sit down on the couch, and while Kiara feels slightly guilty at dripping water onto the plush furniture, JJ reminds her that John B doesn’t even need this couch given that he’s living at Tannyhill. Plus, JJ concedes, he could always buy one with the gold they found if he’s this attached.

Pope glances dismally at his shorts, and excuses himself to take a shower. That sounds like a pretty good idea to Kiara, too, given that the ends of her hair smell like chlorine, and her clothes, too. The smell of all the chemicals makes her nose wrinkle. She resolves to get to it later, her hair is the last item on her steadily growing list of priorities, and right now, she’s more focused on watching JJ with surreptitious care.

JJ is upset. It doesn’t take any probing for Kiara to figure that out, she can see the half-wince hidden when he walks, the darkness in his eyes painfully clear when he laughs. She’s surprised, immensely, that Pope doesn’t see through his guise, but remembers that JJ is, in fact, an expert liar. It says something about Kiara that she notices that JJ isn’t telling the truth, and she files that information away for later.

Since it’s just the two of them, there’s plenty of room for both Kiara and JJ to sit comfortably on the couch, but Kiara abandons her position when she spies JJ mid-wince. He doesn’t say anything when she stands, or when she walks to the freezer and returns with an ice pack in hand.

JJ accepts it and instantly presses it against his skin. He’s lying down now, towel discarded at his feet, and he sorta-relaxes, or at least his eyes close, and he lets out a long, loud sigh. 

Kiara swallows. 

He’s hurt alright, and Kiara hovers nearby as she scans his skin, counting each bruise in her head with a combination of indignation and growing horror. The lights inside are brighter, so she hopes that’s the reason the bruises look worse now than they did before. Purple, pink, wine-red. Kiara feels sick. She must have stared at him a moment too long, for JJ cracks an eye open, and says, “You like what you see?”

It’s a joke, a bad one, and the bubble of laughter that rises in her throat borders on hysteria. “That’s not funny.”

JJ rotates the ice pack to the side. “You laughed,” he notes.

Kiara shakes her head, and sits down opposite him in a lone chair. “This whole situation is so fucked up.” JJ doesn’t confirm or deny this, simply moves the ice pack around some more, and Kiara bites her lip. “Have you ever thought about telling someone?”

This time, he’s the one who laughs, bitter and sharp. “Yeah, because I have so many caring adults in my life. The cops are just _dying_ to help me out.”

“You don’t have to go to the cops. You could tell anyone - my parents, Heyward, Hell, even Monty-”

“Look, Kie.” He says sharply, sitting up. The ice pack falls on the couch, but JJ doesn’t appear to notice. “I went down that road, okay? It didn’t end well.”

“What?” Kiara gasps, softly, because she doesn’t quite understand what he’s telling her, and then JJ sighs.

“A long time ago, there was this guy. Just some guy I told. He didn’t do anything good about it, and last I heard he left town. Alright? But it’s fine.” His words are quick, rushed, and Kiara _knows_ there’s more to this story than JJ is letting on. “Everything’s fine.”

“JJ.” Kiara says, and her voice breaks. She doesn’t care about crossing boundaries or invading personal space, not here, not now, and moves to sit beside him on the couch. Kiara looks at him intently, and she’s upset and she thinks she might be crying and fuck, JJ looks uncomfortable and his eyes are skitting around and around but Kiara _doesn’t care_ because he has to understand, _has_ to _know_ that. “It’s not fine.”

He stares at her.

“It’s not fine.” Kiara repeats.

Slowly, JJ nods. His, “I know,” is a whisper, but she hears it anyways.

-

Morning comes with the chirping of birds eagerly by the window, and when Kiara wakes up she realizes she’s lying on the couch. It takes a second to realize there’s someone lying behind her, and it’s _JJ_ , and another second to realize it’s JJ _shirtless_. Kiara’s mind goes blank, scrambles, and rewires itself as she replays the conversation from last night. By four both of them had been too tired to move, too drained, and Kiara vaguely remembers procuring a quilt before settling next to JJ on the couch. Said quilt lies draped across them both, red, and pinstriped.

Kiara smiles. She sits up carefully, wondering what time it was, and the clock nearby alerts her it’s half past noon.

The curtains are drawn open, fresh beams of sun flashing around. It’s with a moderate sense of alarm that Kiara realizes Pope is already awake, though he thankfully says nothing about Kiara and JJ’s sleeping arrangements, simply nods to her hello, and goes back to whatever he was doing in the kitchen. When Kiara gets a little closer, she realizes he’s fixing sandwiches. 

“Ow,” JJ says from the couch, pressing a hand to his temples.

“That’s what you get for drinking too much beer.” Pope notes.

“Shut up.” JJ moans, “It was a time of crisis.” 

Kiara watches him grab a shirt from off the ground and yank it over his head. The bruises on his skin, still a painful crimson, vanish beneath it.

“I need a drink,” JJ yawns as he walks over to the kitchen, and waves a hand when Pope shoots him a dark look. “I meant water, genius.”

Kiara snorts. “So, what’s the plan?”

Pope spreads something that looks like goat cheese but probably isn’t onto a slice of bread. “The plan is we get the gold. Tonight. As soon as John B gets back from his fishing trip,” Kiara doesn’t miss the scorn in Pope’s voice at the thought, “we’ll take it. Bring it up with a rig, store it somewhere safe. Then I’ve got to go home and get ready for my scholarship interview.”

“When’s that?” JJ asks, while snatching a sandwich from the stack Pope has amassed on a plate.

“Tomorrow.” Pope says urgently. “I swear you guys, If I’m not back by then-”

“Relax,” JJ says, at the same time as Kiara says, “Don’t worry.” 

“We’ll make it back to your house on time.” She grabs some mugs, and balances them along with the plate of sandwiches in one hand as she maneuvers to the table. “Now, all we have to do is wait for John B.”

-

JJ grows bored waiting pretty quickly. To his benefit, he spends an impressive amount of time not being bored; he finishes the sandwiches, has a lengthy discussion on if it’s possible to obtain a legal fishing license on the Cut with Pope and Kie, and it’s only two hours later when he starts to grow annoyed.

“I’m bored.” He announces loudly, throwing himself on the couch. The movement makes his bruises sting, and as JJ manages to suppress the wince that follows, he reminds himself to avoid sharp motions for the rest of the day.

When JJ peers his head to see if he’s caught anyone’s attention, he finds Kiara staring at him with an amused expression on her face, while Pope looks on seriously.

“You’re bored? Great. Maybe you,” Pope tosses a cardboard box in JJ’s direction, “can get started on cleaning up the mess your instinctive purchase made.” 

“Oh.” JJ says, when he realizes what Pope is referring to. “I dunno man, I kinda liked the hot tub,” he starts to say, though halts at the expression on Kiara’s face. “But I’ll take it down, sure.”

Kiara smiles, and Pope shakes his head, mumbling about how he was going to go and find more boxes. 

It’s surprisingly easy to remove the hot tub from where it sits in the middle of the grass, since all they have to do is drain the water and wait for the shipping company to pick it up. It’s the lights, however, that prove more difficult.

“How,” Kiara states, “Did you manage to put all these lights up?” She runs a hand across her forehead, then continues to unwind a long string of lights from a tree which would glow blue if illuminated in the darkness.

JJ shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard.” He says, which is a non-answer, and Kiara must realize it, for she snorts. 

She frowns, suddenly, and peeks out at him from her position in the tree. “JJ,” she asks urgently, “there’s a return date on these, right?”

“Yeah.” He answers breezily, and raises an eyebrow at the slightly dumbfounded expression on Kiara’s face. “Impulse purchase doesn’t mean I’m a complete dumbass. Besides, super genius over here,” he gestures to Pope, “did the math, and turns out if we return this stuff today, I can get, what was it?”

“Ninety three point six seven percent of his money back.” Pope recites from where he’s standing besides a group of cardboard boxes. He looks a little too pleased to be called ‘super genius’, and JJ figures he should sneak some more praises into the conversation given that Pope has pretty much made the whole returning-hot-tub-supplies ordeal a piece of cake.

Kiara looks impressed, and she grins at JJ with wide, excited eyes. “That means you can still pay off your restitution?”

“That’s right, baby,” JJ says, and raises his mug in salute. It’s filled with water, since JJ’s eyes still sting, slightly, and he’s still hungover from last night. Thinking about that makes his chest twitch. Most of the night was a step away from pure awful, and resurfaced a lot of memories JJ had hoped to not dwell on for another fifty years, but he _did_ get to sleep besides Kiara for the second time. So as shitty as he now feels with his painful thoughts swirling inside his head, it was totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any spelling mistakes! If you see any, please let me know!


	27. (1x8) - comfort over truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If I’m the one mediating, we’ve hit rock bottom.”_
> 
> OR: Kiara and Pope argue. The truth is hard to hear.

Kiara doesn’t say anything to Pope for the remainder of the trip. Instead, she sits where JJ instructed her too, arms crossed around her shoulders and her tongue held between her teeth. She runs her sneakers across the boat’s plastic bottom, swirling the collection of muddy water which pooled at her feet. She hears him JJ in front of her, pulling levers as he moves the boat in the direction of the Cut, but doesn’t look at him. To be honest, Kiara doesn't trust herself to acknowledge anyone’s presence other than her own, and she knows, distinctly, that if she glances at another human being now, she’ll say something she will really, really regret.

The boat grinds to a stop. Pope climbs out of the HMS Pogue without a word to either of them, which means he’s really upset. _Good_ , Kiara thinks vindictively. After everything Pope said to her, he deserves to feel like an asshole. When Kiara finally looks up, Pope is already gone, vanished among the skinny, dark tree trunks spotting the land.

She sighs. Above her head the moon is concealed by a cluster of clouds, yet the shadowy slice illuminates the sky around it, surrounded by twirling stars. If Kiara was in a better mood, she might stop to enjoy it. As it happens, she glares dismally at the sky, wondering why the fuck everything looks so grey. She hates grey. 

Without meaning to, Kiara’s gaze slips to JJ, who’s fiddling with something in his hand - his lighter - which he shoves back into his pockets. He walks closer to her, and Kiara is still angry. She’s still angry when he sits down at her side, and angrier still when he raises a hand to place against her back. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She snaps.

JJ freezes, and the hand mid-raise instantly pulls back. He pushes himself off the bench, sneakers squeaking against the boat’s watery floor. “That’s cool.” JJ says, but he sounds distant, and a little cold, which is exactly what Kiara intended. “We don’t have to.”

He doesn’t try to sit down again but he doesn’t move away, either, just sorta stands nearby. Then, he twists around and rests his elbows against the edge, so he’s looking out into the water. The waves lap against the HMS, rocking it gently. 

Kira sorta hates herself. She’s acting like a bitch, and she knows it. Here was JJ trying to be nice, _voluntarily_ touching her, and here she is pushing him away. She bites her lip. It was instinctual, but now… Kiara glances at him out of the corner of her eye. It’s with some alarm she notes JJ’s got his lighter out again, and a blunt held loosely in one hand.

“I’m sorry.” Kiara blurts, standing up quickly, ignoring the look of surprise that flashes across JJ’s face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just, I’m really mad at Pope right now, and I get that you want to help but I can’t, I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s breathing hard, and part of her thinks it was a mistake to bring this up, because now Pope’s voice is echoing inside her head, you weren’t there for any of us, _you forgot about us_ , and John B ran off with a _fucking gun_ and what if he kills someone and Pope was wrong, she didn’t mean to leave them and abandon them and

Later, she’ll learn she was having a panic attack.

Kiara recognizes the expression on JJ’s face as utter concern, one moment he’s still got his lighter in one hand and the next it’s not, his lips are thin and white and she doesn’t quite understand why, Kiara’s back presses against something hard, something solid, the edge of the boat, and JJ sits beside her, not quite touching her but almost. She’s not breathing yet and then she is, and soon Kiara’s steadily aware that the voice telling her _in out_ is not one inside her head but JJ’s. She follows, _in out_ , till the sky sharpens and the pain in her head clears.

“That was.” Kiara says, when she can speak again. That was. “Unpleasant.”

JJ nods. “Yep.” He pops the p.

“Thank you.” She adds.

JJ hums in acknowledgement, soft and low.

Kiara presses her head into her hands, sighs, and looks up. She was still mad at Pope. John B was on a murder rampage, and once again, missing. 

“What are we going to do?” She questions rhetorically, though partly hoping JJ will suddenly provide her with a set of GPS coordinates on where to find John B.

“We wait.” JJ says, which is not GPS coordinates, but Kiara still hangs on his words as if they are. “John B’s not a killer.” He looks darkly at the boat for a moment, and continues, “Yes, he took the gun, but he’ll cool down. Besides, last we saw Ward was still kicking. As for Pope,” JJ sighs, “He’ll go to his scholarship interview in the morning. Maybe we can pick up the gold tomorrow.”

It’s the best plan they have, so Kiara decides they’ll stick to it.


	28. (1x8) - no surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s not like I expected a happy ending or some shit.”_
> 
> OR: Of course he did.

When John B informs them Cameron stole the gold, JJ’s first thought is, _of course he did_. JJ realizes that this information should be surprising and he should be upset, but all he does is continue tossing a tennis ball into the air, and catching it before it hits the ground. John B eyes him skeptically, and JJ knows John B’a waiting for the rage, the typical JJ behavior that comes with bad news, but JJ isn’t feeling it. Happy endings never happen, JJ knew that before the gold even entered his life.

Eventually curiosity must get the better of him, for John B’s lips skew to the side. He props himself up in his elbows, and looks up at JJ from his languished position on the dock. “Why are you being so calm about this?”

John B’s apparently abandoned all attempts at subtlety, and it makes JJ release a dark chuckle. 

He sniffs the air. Tosses the ball again. “It’s not surprising.” JJ answers, and the ball makes a soft _wphht_ sound when it lands in his left hand.

“Not surprising.” John B repeats.

“This is how it always is.” JJ says, this time with a sweeping gesture. “Kooks get the whole fucking world, and Pogues get nothing.” He tosses the ball again. Inwardly, he recognizes his anger at the situation is starting to swirl, for part of him relishes in the way John B’s expression twists, turning unusually ugly.

Beside him, Kiara shifts. JJ tosses the ball again, this time swinging one foot out in a movement that’s intentionally casual, and John B continues to glare. JJ raises his eyebrows, the ball comes down with a _splat_ , his free hand twitches, slightly, in preparation to curl into a fist. He wonders what would have happened then, if John B would’ve pushed himself off the dock - and JJ calculates the hand John B would have punched with, lays out the direction he has to duck to avoid a direct hit - but any brewing fight evaporates into the air, for at that moment Pope comes running up to them, sweating and out of breath. 

And then they decide to steal the gold.

When they fail, JJ reminds himself to not be too disappointed. 

He reminds himself this several times, even as he’s standing up and jogging to the van. Pogues get nothing.

John B bolts into the driver's seat and the engine whirls, coursing down the street at a speed that’s probably illegal. Pogues _deserve_ nothing. 

The wheels thrum. And. And Kiara’s fingers loop silently through his own, _fuck_ , because a small maybe-larger part of him is singing that they have a sure-fire chance at getting that gold back after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I’d end this on a high-note, because we all know what comes next.


	29. [1x8] and [1x9] - characteristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s not like I expected a happy ending or some shit.” cont._
> 
> OR: Trouble ensures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has flip-flopping perspectives between JJ and Kiara, just to let you guys know!

And then they lose the gold.

_Yeah_ , JJ thinks cynically. Cameron’s plane is now a distant shape in the sky. He could have predicted that.

-

“I want to go to the cops.” John B says.

As far as his wonderful wisdom goes, JJ could not, in fact, have predicted what happened next.

“Rafe _murdered_ Peterkin?” Pope exclaims, and John B nods mutely in response. They’re at a slightly secluded spot in the forest, a couple miles from the Chateau, which, for obvious reasons, they now don’t plan to return to.

“Pope,” Kiara hisses, and Pope falls silent.

JJ thinks of several, useless statements to offer about the current situation such as _This Is Bad_ , but is too tired to say them aloud, instead carefully focuses on John B. 

The past hour had been rough. John B was a _mess_. Pope was high, too high, and the one time they needed him to diagnose whatever the fuck John B was on, he was unavailable to aid them. JJ recognizes shock when he sees it, and John B fit the picture a little too well: monosyllabic responses, wide-eyes, flinching, not to mention the significant amount of blood staining his shirt. Kiara eventually coerced John B into admitting that he wasn’t hurt, and the blood on his shirt was Peterkins’. That raised more questions than it answered, but after gritting out a couple more sentences it seemed John B needed no more prodding, and the story flowed out of him all at once. Admitting what happened suddenly seemed to snap John B out of his funk, but JJ still gives him an extra long glance to be sure. 

“I want to go to the cops.” John B says, finally. 

This time, JJ’s voices his opinion. “You should never, ever trust cops, no matter what the circumstance is….”

“I need to go to the cops.” John B says again, his voice low, cracked, and JJ turns away. It reminds him a little too well of, of something he’d rather not dwell on, so he doesn’t protest again when John B pulls the van up to the station and walks inside.

-

Being wanted, Kiara admits, was terrifying. But it was a different type of terrifying, mute and far off, not the way she felt huddled up in the chicken coop, or when JJ got hurt. 

It permeated the van and the air, and although the situation they were in was completely, horribly fucked up, Kiara found her thoughts were crisp and clear. She could make rational decisions, talk think eat drink, behave normally, naturally, all while the words _Wanted_ were ringing in the back of her head. 

Well. John B was Wanted. Which meant they were Wanted too, given that the entire Island knew they hung out exclusively with each other. 

She pulls out of the police station with aggressive gusto, veers off the well-known roads and into the underbelly of the Cut. It takes a short time to get the cops off their trail, but even after the sirens subside, Kiara knows it’s not safe. She hides the car in a secluded area and puts it in park, knowing full well that this is where she’d sleep, along with her Pogues, tonight. 

-

Night in the car is quiet. John B passes out three minutes after they park, though only after several assurances that they were well-hidden, which was true: the car was pushed deep into an empty spot, carefully protected from sight by the shadows. It makes sense, given the shit-storm of a day John B experienced. 

JJ can’t sleep. He hasn’t managed to nod off for more than ten minutes at a time, and the fourth time he’s jerked awake by an awful, skin-crawling dream he abandons the idea of rest altogether. Figures. JJ can sleep through a lot of things, but being on the run from cops who accuse you of murder isn’t one of them. 

He stretches silently, his fingers brushing the roof of the car as he raises his arms. It’s cramped inside the car, small, and that, too, makes JJ nervous. He is not particularly fond of small spaces.

He’s sitting in the shotgun, and Kiara’s in the driver’s seat beside him, under the mutual agreement that if a cop happened to discover their van in the middle of the night, a rich Kook at the wheel would be better for their reputation than a poor, dirt-covered Pogue. A quick glance confirms Kiara is, unlike him, asleep. 

Both Pope and John B are passed out in the back. JJ hopes John B’s sleep is the opposite of his own - uninterrupted, dreamless - and is thankful to see that Pope has fallen asleep as well, without sudden twitches aside from the rise and fall of his chest. JJ remembers Pope being awake somewhere between his own second and third attempt at sleep, muttering something that sounded like advanced geometry under his breath. Note to self, JJ thinks, the next time they’re in a life-or-death situation, Pope and weed don’t mix. The van is quiet, aside from the occasional lull each time John B or Pope take a breath.

JJ sighs softly. This was a real shit show. He’s been through a lot of shit in his life, but this? This is a situation he can’t lie himself out of, and neither can John B. 

His eyes meander around the car, passing the grey roof and the smudged glass before landing on Kiara. Both her hands have fallen in her lap, and she’s tilted to one side, having fallen asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against the seat. 

JJ supposes it’s strange to look at someone while they sleep, but she looks incredibly peaceful, which calms him down. It’s ironic given the current situation, and JJ feels as though he’s intruded on something private. It’s then that he remembers that they’ve slept side-by-side (together) twice, and this sorta counts as a third time, right? There’s no blanket, no heater, but he’s still sitting next to her, only inches away.

He wonders, briefly, if her parents know where she is, though judging by the plethora of missed messages and phone calls illuminated on her home screen, he’s thinking the answer is no. 

As if somehow hearing his thoughts, Kiara stirs, and JJ wants to hit himself. Kiara’s eyes flutter open, hair frazzled to twice its usual size, shirt wrinkled at the bottom and lips abnormally pink.

“JJ?” She murmurs, and he. can’t breathe. Hates himself for disturbing her and hates himself for staring at her, but he doesn’t look away. One of her hands goes up, running through the tangles in her hair. It drops seconds later, and Kiara’s still looking at him and JJ notices her pupils are slightly wide. She’s half-asleep, and the way she sinks herself back into the seat confirms it.

“This sucks.” She says.

JJ’s experience with sleep-talking rests at an absolute zero, but he generally responds when spoken to, so he says, “Yep. No gold for us.”

“No.” Kiara responds, and she sounds frustrated. “Not that. I was looking forward to going with you.”

JJ blinks. “What?” He asks loudly, and slaps a hand to his mouth.

Kiara shakes her head, and her hair shakes with her. “I wanted to go with you to Yucatán.” She says, and looks immensely pleased with this conversation, nodding to herself. JJ’s brain is still frozen between shock and something like elation, so he half-smiles back. This, apparently, Kiara was satisfied with, for she rolls over in her seat before falling back asleep.

JJ swallows. His brain starts working again two minutes later, and there’s pure, effervescent joy in his gut.


	30. (1x9) shocker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I love you."_
> 
> OR: They hideout. Pope has a revelation.

In the morning Kiara is, for a moment, almost cheerful, but as the situation dawns on her, her elation fades away, leaving unnerving, gripping clarity in its place.

There were Wanted posters of John B.

There were _a lot_ of Wanted posters of John B.

Her cramped muscles ache, a byproduct of spending the entire night in the car, and she desperately, painfully wishes there was a way out of this mess; she’s been shoved into a deep, dark hole, and there’s no way she can crawl her way out, at least not without leaving the others behind. Which isn’t going to happen.

In the end, they get a Plan, because they always do. It’s seemingly simple, and while Kiara can see the ludicrousy of it, envision all the ways it will fail, they’ve got no choice. 

They have to get John B off the island.

Now.

-

Tannyhill is ominous at night, the effect multiplied by the sheer size of it. Kiara would get lost if not for the numerous times she’s been here, a year spent traipsing Sarah’s backyard has left an impression on her even now, learning the intricacies and trapdoors which lead them in and out: the door from the kitchen which leads to the second garden, a hatch by Sarah’s room which leads Kiara in the direction towards home. 

The path they’re on is a short stretch of cement, sandwiched between two neat, trimmed layers of grass. Kiara walks to the fence and slithers her way over it, Pope a step behind her,and she lands lightly on the other side. This is one of the camera’s blind-spots, Ward disabled the garden cameras since they required too much upkeep to run, so Kiara confidently knows they won’t be watched, at least until they reach the steps at the front gate.

“Okay.” Kiara says, turning to Pope. She breathes in, and lets it out, praying this will work. “Are we clear on the Plan?”

The Plan was, as Kiara mentioned several times on the tense ride over here, to find Sarah. Sarah was the only person who could clear John B’s name, a key witness to the awful events that went down two nights ago, and Kiara knows, without question, that Sarah will testify. She and Sarah have had their differences, but it all seems like a distant dream, inconsequential compared to the mountain of problems she and her Pogues faced. 

What’s more, John B trusts her. 

And Kiara trusts John B.

Instead of answering, Pope lurches to the side, and rambles. His words are messy, random, and Kiara wants to curse, damn Pope for picking this _one_ time to try out weed, and get it to muddle his thoughts entirely, especially when they needed him the most. Annoyance laces through her spine, sharp and thick. She peers around Pope’s head, spots a corner of JJ shuffling closer to the fence, and relaxes, slightly. With JJ here, they’d be able to deal with the Pope-situation together, and, more importantly, carry out the Plan.

Kiara turns around. For now Tannyhill was empty, which was good, void of it’s usual staff of gardeners and attendants, though she supposes it’s probably too late for them to be working anyway. She checks the time, and the small numbers seem so meaningless, not when John B’s future, and theirs, was out of hand.

“I love you Kie.” Pope says.

 _What._ Kiara freezes. Slowly, she turns around, and, perhaps mishearing, asks, “What?”

“I love you.” Pope says earnestly. His face is serious yet unguarded, and Kiara waits for him to laugh. Instead he says, “I’m in love with you.”

Kiara blinks. What. The. Fuck. John B was Wanted, JJ was literally going to risk bodily harm to get the Phantom from his dad, and they were _breaking into someone’s house_. “Are we doing this right now?”

Pope nods, and steps closer. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel about you,”

“We don’t have time for this.” 

“Kiara, I’ve been meaning to say it for a very long time. I love you-”

“Pope! Pope-”

“I’m trying to tell you, I love you-” Pope persists, and Kiara grabs him, as if she could shake the thoughts from his head.

“Pope! Stop.” She says, hoping to get through to him. She sighs, bites her lip. “This isn’t happening. We have to help John B-”

“Why not?

“What?”

Pope yanks himself out of Kiara’s grasp. “I know that. But Kiara-”

“No,” Kiara protests, because she doesn’t want this, she can’t do this right now. “No, can we talk about this later, please?”

Pope grits his teeth, visibly upset. “Why don’t you-”

“Because!” Kiara screams, “I like JJ!”

Pope recoils.

There’s silence, then, ear-deafening silence, which stretches between the two of them as the seconds tick by. Pope looks, for the first time this night, sober, like a bout of clarity struck him over the head. “You like him?” Pope echoes, stunned.

Kiara shakes her head, surprised by her own admission, suddenly exhausted. “Can we not? Please? Please?” Pope stands there, JJ still isn’t here, and Kiara has work to do. Without waiting for Pope to follow her, she turns around and walks down Tannyhill’s luscious garden, with only the flowers as her company.


	31. (1x10) closing in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Home sweet home.”_
> 
> OR: JJ takes the keys to the Phantom.

The drive to the Phantom is quiet. It’s fine, JJ’s not in the mood to talk, and neither is Kiara, both filled with the anticipation of finding John B, the worry of being Hunted, though JJ’s mind is further colluded with thoughts of his dad. JJ keeps picturing Kiara’s face when she offered to come inside with him, the generosity clear across her features. His fear was foreign and striking, a lighting bolt to the chest which gripped him strong enough to hurt: JJ would _never_ let Kiara near his dad, never. He’s so, so thankful she didn’t come.

His interaction with his dad was something else, something JJ doesn’t have the strength to analyze. He tucks it deep into the recess of his mind, stores it there along with a slew of painful memories which threaten to explode across his brain: the fists, _I love you_ , alcohol, bruises, blood. JJ sucks in a breath. He can’t think about that right now, can’t can’t can’t. So he thinks about John B, about the Phantom, and when his brain itches towards his dad again, he shifts.

“Can you tell me something?” JJ asks desperately, fingering the metal keys.

Kiara glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “What?

“Anything.”

Kiara does. She talks about the extreme, the inconsequential, the moment highly reminiscent of their time in the hammock, just before they kissed. JJ let’s Kiara’s voice wash over him like a balm, let’s her smooth the wrinkles of worry from his mind. The memories bursting at their seams flee in her presence, and JJ focuses on the way her lips move, the shadow of her jaw, ever-present curls of her hair, the weary, dark bags under her eyes. 

They were all exhausted.

JJ, listening to Kiara, lets himself pretend that things could be this way forever. He listens to her, and lets himself pretend things will all be alright.


	32. (1x10) sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OR: The finale.

John B is dead.

Kiara screams herself hoarse, she curls her hands into fists and yells yells yells.

John B is dead.

She doesn’t see anything, not the agents standing around her, not the tents, feels the wind and the cold and the far-off spray of water. It hits her like bullets to the chest, burying themselves into her skin. Her parents hug her, they cry with her, and Kiara sobs, yells, hugs them back, overcome with so much pain. Everything is magnified, amplified.

John B is dead.

Kiara cries.

And cries.

John B is dead.

There’s nothing in the whole wide world that will change that.


	33. (1x10) ever closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OR: The finale.

JJ sits on the side of the dock and drinks. It’s his off hour, in between cleaning up the mess the coppers made and Project Woodwork. Agatha still hurts people, and JJ forgets that. 

He’s aware vaguely when Pope joins him, but doesn’t do much more than an acknowledging half-nod. Pope’s been busy with the scholarship, apparently the committee's gonna give him another chance after everything that went down a couple months ago. JJ hasn’t talked to him about it. Everything feels sorta numb.

“Kiara told me about you two.” Pope says.

JJ stops drinking mid-swig. “Oh.” He puts the bottle down on the side of the dock, watches the shadows play along the surface of the water. Pope’s sitting beside JJ, legs folded so they don’t get wet. He stares at him, probingly, and JJ sniffs. “Huh,” he says.

“Do you love her?” Pope probes, in the resulting silence.

“I dunno. Maybe. Someday.” A pause. “I want to.”

It’s the most honest answer JJ can give, the most honest answer he’s given this entire day. JJ doesn’t elaborate further, and half-heartedly participates in the next conversation, drinking from the bottle more frequently.

He doesn’t want to talk to Pope.

Kiara’s working.

JJ drinks.

-

Kiara is working. She's been working non-stop for two months straight, dividing her time between Project Woodwork and The Wreck, swinging by to see JJ in the late hours of the night when her parents aren’t looking.

She’s working still, filling out a form for new supplies to be sent out, when she notices the small, white rectangle in the mail.

A postcard.

She picks it up, flips it over. Stops.

Reads it again.

The clipboard falls from her hands, such a loud sound, clattering on the floor. The pen rolls away under the table, but Kiara’s already running, tearing open the door and sprint towards the Cut.

JJ is where he always is these days, by the docks. Pope’s with him, thankfully, and he tips his head up when he sees her near. JJ, too, shifts, she can see the confusion flounder across his face, wondering why she’s running, only to vanish a moment later, replaced by a cool facade.

“Guys.” Kiara says, and shoves the postcard into Pope’s hand with barely contained glee. Pope reads it, and she watches the smile break across his face.

“Oh my god.” Pope says.

Kiara pulls JJ to his feet. “JJ.” she says, and he just stares at her, deadened eyes flicker to her and Pope and the postcard, and then he snags it from Pope’s hand.

She watches him read it. 

She watches him smile.

And JJ laughs, a full, honest laugh Kiara hasn’t heard in what feels like decades. With sudden affection, JJ pulls her close, and Kiara leans into the kiss, relishing in her joy, the sun, everything, him. JJ wraps his arms around her waist and Kiara sighs, enjoying the stability he provides, the warmth of his fingers flickering across her skin.

John B is alive, they found the gold, and lost it. 

JJ hums, a melody that gets stuck under her skin, and she feels it flourish, feels it burrowing in her cells and growing there. He had that same melody, she could almost see it, building with each touch and kiss they share.

Kiara likes JJ. She may even love him, but that's all to come, and they stand there on the docks, entwined, forever growing closer in the madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I apologize for blowing up everyone's emails with the last ten or so chapters, but as I've mentioned in my profile, I was planning to conclude this fic in one smooth burst. Now, I'd like to thank everyone who's ever left a comment, kudos, or a hit! Go get yourselves a cookie, one me! I never expected to get a 'big' audience for any of my stories , and I'm still amazed this many people have read my work to begin with, it really means a lot. I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and even though it did end up straining my mental health, I'm glad it's finished and done! Thank you for all your support!
> 
> If you want to chat OBX anytime anywhere, reach out to me on tumblr! [ noellesthings.tumblr.com ](https://noellesthings.tumblr.com/)


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